Quiet is Violent
by Actual Trash Prince
Summary: Running is the only thing about the Maze that Tasha likes... well, it's not the only thing, there's the other Runners, the silence of the Deadheads, that one time she punched Gally in the face... And there's Newt. Yeah, she likes Newt, too. Warnings: Trans character, attempted suicide, panic attacks, violence, angst., spoilers. Pairings: Newt/Original Character
1. Fight or Flight

2 years ago, they sent up a girl and a gun. The girl was quiet, all dark eyes and dark hair, cut so it brushed her cheeks and stuck up in odd directions when dry, but it was wet, clinging to her cheeks, and there was water in her lungs. She was lying flat against the cold metal grate of a cage that rattled beneath her. Her clothes were cold and stuck to her, so she curled up into a small ball in the corner of the cage, coughing roughly until her lungs felt as though they were on fire. Her breath was coming in shuddering gasps for almost an entire minute before she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and forced herself to breath normally, to assess her situation. There was nothing around her but crates and piles of gardening equipment, she wasn't sure what the crates were for, why she was even here, or who she was, but the feeling in her gut told her to run as far away as she could from this place. There was something beside her, cold and metallic and she held it close. It was heavy and its weight triggered something in her stomach twinged before she realised what it was and she dropped it like it had burned her. A gun. A fucking gun.

The cage clattered to a stop and she felt her breath hitch in her throat, but she tried with all of her will, to stay as still and as blank as possible. She was bathed in a deep, crimson light, followed by a green one, before bright, natural sunlight streamed into the cage as the doors were lifted open with a groan. She stared at the wall in front of her, bare toes curling nervously into the wire of the floor, not looking at the faces of boys peering down at her. It was barely a moment before was a pair of boots in front of her, attached to a boy, who leaned down to bark at her.

"Get up, Greenie. Its just day one." His voice was rough, but he waited. She remained impassive and small, hands wrapped around her knees. He grabbed the front of her shirt, lifting her up in one movement, her hands hung limply by her sides, toes barely grazing the bottom of cage. She looked at him and he stared back, chocolate eyes looking into honey ones, and remained impassive, voiceless, toes wiggling, trying to reach the grate below her. He sneered at her, before looking her up and down, evaluating and realising in the one movement, and promptly dropping her. She landed, rather than crumpling, on her feet, staring up at him, almost a foot shorter, gaze shallow despite her constant evaluation of the situation. He huffed and squared his shoulders.

"You gonna help me or not?" He demanded, reaching for a crate, passing it to one of the boys above them. The girl quickly bobbed down, picking up the gun and tucking it into the back of her waistband, before hefting up a stack of tools. It was solid work, only a few minutes, which left some boys to take supplies up to whatever sort of camp setup they had, while the others milled around the edge of the cage, waiting for the girl.

Once the supplies had been lifted up, she scrambled up, surrounded by the boys, watching her. She didn't speak a word, merely avoiding their eyes and gazing around at her surroundings. There were walls, that was the first thing she noted, walls taller than she had ever seen, not that she could remember anything; tall, concrete, built like a fortress. To her left, large, green expanses of forest, with small camps and buildings with domesticated farm animals scattered about. The boys were mocking her, jeering and leering but the girl just waited for some sort of signal.

The boy who had shouted at her in the cage, they called him Gally, quieted the boys, but a taller, dark skinned boy joined them. The girl saw her chance as all attention was on the other boy, she bolted for the forest, her legs carrying her as fast as possible. She didn't know why she was running, all she knew was that she had to get out of there. She could hear them shout out behind her ( _'We've got a runner!_ ') and there was the thump of footsteps that indicated a pursuer not far behind her. The forest wasn't exceedingly thick, but she was snagged on some of the underbrush, as was her pursuer, and there was the telltale shout of swearing behind her, but she didn't stop to look back. There was a moment where she almost knew she was going to be caught, his voice was close, his footsteps were too, but the forest came to an abrupt halt and she ran face first into the wall, a blast of pain followed by a single memory. She was followed by her pursuer and they both ended up pressed to the wall, or, more accurately, the girl was pressed to the wall and her pursuer misjudged his speed and ran into her.

"What a way to meet." He chuckled, his voice heavily accented. She made a move to squirm out from beneath him, but he had already stepped back and taken a firm hold of her upper arm, pulling her back through the forest in the direction of camp. He was tall and blonde and he said his name was Newt. She didn't mind him, and let herself be lead, having snapped from fleeing to passive within a very short space of time.

"Alby! I found her!" He crowed, triumphantly, entering the largest clearing where they had began. The girl saw all of the boys there, talking and laughing and she flinched. However, Newt's hand was steady on her bicep and instead of running, she edged closer to him.

"Did she outrun you, Newt?" Snorted one of the other boys, before Alby, the dark-skinned boy, turned on the girl, she almost froze up, not understanding if he was mad or considering her potential.

"Well? Did you?" He asked. The girl looked at him, her gaze once again shallow, and remained silent. Newt hadn't let go of her and she was glad almost, her fingers were twitched and she wanted to leave so badly, but she stayed, almost pressing herself to his side. He seemed to catch on.

"One of the fastest runners I've ever seen. Could probably take on Minho if she wanted." The girl felt pride flare in her heart, despite the fact she didn't know who Minho was.

"So how did ya' catch her?" Another one asked. The girl opened her mouth, though could not utter a sound, but Newt just laughed.

"We ran into a bit of wall." He said, a knowing little note in his voice. The girl looked on silently as Alby evaluated her. He nodded slightly, almost approvingly, and she straightened her back.

"Take her on the tour then. If you want her to be a runner, you run with her tomorrow." He told Newt, who grinned and nodded. This, of course, lead to a round of jeering and whooping from the gathered boys, including a shout of ' _Yeah! Get it, Newt!_ ' The girl paused, witty barb on the tip of her tongue with her mouth refusing to cooperate with her, but Newt tugged her away.

"Don't listen to them. They've never seen a girl before." He murmured to her, and the girl turned to him, raising one eyebrow, breaking the emotional silence she had created, conveying her skepticism at his statement. "Well, I haven't either," he admitted, "but anyone who runs that fast earns my respect." He's silent for the next few minutes and he didn't let go of her arm. She feels like she should be struggling, but doesn't. She either shuts down or bolts and she just can't bolt. They arrive at a small building, the most structurally sound, seeming to be built from a pre-made structure, full of different rooms and hammocks. Newt showed her where her room would be, letting go and sliding his hand down her back, in what would be a reassuring gesture, if it didn't end with him pulling the gun from where she had it tucked into her waistband.

"Where the shuck did you get this?" He hissed, his demeanour changing rapidly. He didn't seem mad, he seemed… afraid, almost. The girl froze and pressed a hand to where the gun was just a moment ago, mind still going over the situation in her head after such a mood whiplash. The girl, her hand shaking, pointed out towards the cage, once she had a bearing on her thoughts, and Newt's jaw clenched. "I'm handing this straight to Alby. Do you know how dangerous this is?" He asked. The girl struggled for a moment, trying to make her mind work with her mouth, as he turned on his heel and headed towards the door, before managing to find her voice for the first time since arriving.

"No!" She shouted, and covered her mouth with both of her hands, her mind flashing to the harsh face of Gally hauling supplies, roughly, his words harsh and uncaring. Newt turned back to her, frown creasing his forehead. "I mean, yes, but only to Alby." She blurted. Newt sighed, a small, almost weary smile on his face. He told Alby that the girl had found it with the other supplies but didn't realise what it was, and Alby huffed out _'fine'_ and the girl wasn't punished. They kept on with the tour, Newt reverting back to his non-gun-panicky state, and the girl remaining silent.

"Three rules," he told her as they stood facing an opening in the walls, "one, do your part. Help out around here, whatever your job is." The girl nodded and looked to the opening of in the wall, a long, concrete corridor before her. "Two, never harm another glader," at her confused expression, Newt gestured to the two of them, and the others around the glade, "anyone from here, part of the glade. And three," his attention was turned back to the opening in the walls, "is never go into the maze; this." He pointed to it, before turning to her, "but we're going in tomorrow."

The girl nodded once and waited patiently for Newt to lead the way to the next destination. When he didn't, the girl looked at him, only to see him looking back at her with a curious expression. "Do you remember your name or anything?" He asked, looking over her. Her chocolate coloured eyes dropped to the ground and she froze for a moment, before nodding slowly. "Really? That fast? I suppose you did get hit pretty hard by that wall." There was another moment of silence and Newt asked, quietly. "What is your name, then?"

The girl waited, with her name on her tongue, trying to calm her mind that was urging her to run fast and far. Her voice was quiet and she managed one word.

"Tasha."


	2. Here or There

One year ago, she survived a night in the maze. Tasha was running with Minho that day, Newt having begun to settle into his job as second in command within the glade, under Alby. It became very apparent to Minho that Newt wasn't kidding about Tasha being fast enough to take him on, as he had lost her after the first few hours, through the twists and turn, running through the maze until he just couldn't keep up with her anymore - or maybe she had lost him a couple of turns back, he wasn't certain. The sun had sunk low in the sky, a red glow gliding over Minho as he slowly made his way back to the entrance of the maze, retracing his steps.

His own footsteps echoed as he walked across the cement, a path he had walked many times in his three years of being a Runner. Every so often, when he pause for breath, when he stopped calling her name and listened, he could hear faint footsteps in the distance, the faint pant of breath coming from somewhere just out of range. He could never be sure if it was her around the next corner, or the echo of his own travels. He just called her name again.

Minho had only been by the doors for around ten minutes, having waited until the final possible moment to go back incase Tasha was looking for him. He wasn't sure what he was going to do if she didn't turn up, about himself or about Newt or about any of the Gladers, (losing someone was always hard on them), but he didn't want to think about that. He made it back to the entrance, hovering about it, waiting and trying not to arouse the suspicions of the other Gladers (mainly Newt). However, he was fairly successful in the last respect, with Newt buzzing awkwardly about Minho as they waited.

"I'm going to look for her." Minho said, his face serious. Newt was torn between ' _No! The doors are about to close!'_ and _'Please, go find her!_ ' However, it seems his decision was made for him, as they spotted Tasha coming around the end of the corridor as the doors began to grind shut. She was limping, her weight off of her left leg for the most part, teeth gritted in determination as she saw him run towards her.

"Run, Minho." She snapped, the doors were less than a metre away from Minho's sides; he hesitated, trying not to let Newt hear her words in case neither of the runners made it. The usually quiet Tasha sped up, as if she was forcing herself to distribute her weight evenly on both legs, lowering her shoulders in a position reminiscent of a bull, head down, right shoulder leading charging at its target. "I said run, you slinthead." She barked at the impact, so only he heard. Minho bouncing back as the doors grazed his elbows, stumbling onto the grass of the glade, he had made it from the maze out of pure shock and Tasha hobbled backwards, her limp once again remembered, to her closest safety from not being squished by the giant, stone doors - back into the Maze.

"Tasha!" Newt was beside Minho in an instant, hand reaching through the quickly narrowing gap trying to reach her, watching as she struggled to squirm back before the doors closed and she was trapped in there. Minho yanked Newt's hand back and Tasha's dark eyes were wide as she saw him standing there, tugged away by a distraught Minho, unable to go forward and pull her through.

"Sorry." She managed, and Newt was silent, his tongue heavy in his mouth, unable to even say goodbye. The doors closed with a low thud and the runner and former runner stood side-by-side. They sat together for hours, backs pressed against the wall, listening to the quiet noises of the glade, wondering if Tasha would scream like the others who were locked in there did. She didn't make a lot of noise often, maybe she's die how she lived; quietly. Whatever the case may be, it wouldn't be long until the grievers came out of the woodworks, from wherever they appeared from every night, to change her and chew her up. Maybe she'd survive but come out stung and twisted. Maybe they'd find her body tomorrow.

"She's fast." Minho said, his voice low. Newt knows he's beating himself up over it, know that Minho thinks if he hand just gone in there and stayed with her, this wouldn't have happened. Minho's not certain what he's trying to say, or whether he wants to just get rid of the morbid silence around them, either way, he finishes his sentence with a hint of uncertainty. He's not doubting her speed, he's doubting its usefulness.

"Yeah." Newt agrees, bleakly, rubbing his injured leg. He's not sure what else he can say, what else there is to say. They don't speak for the rest of the night, just sit in silence together, waiting for the inevitable, terror-inducing sounds from the other side of the door. Tasha doesn't talk much, her voice isn't usually loud, but they can hear her yells from where they sat.

" _I said I'm sorry!_ " It jolted Newt from his stupor in the early hours of the morning, if he was to fathom a guess, it would somewhere around two or three in the morning. He sat bolt upright, mirroring Minho beside him. " _I said run! I told him, run!_ " Her voice carried from within the maze, filled with regret and anger. " _I'm sorry!_ " Newt's smart enough knows she's talking to him, ' _him_ ' is Minho and the grievers don't care. She doesn't speak again for the rest of the night, but then again, she doesn't scream either.

Minho and Newt jump when the doors start to move, scrambling to their feet and expecting the worst. Shuck the rules, Newt's fully prepared to run in and find her, whatever's left of her. The doors grind open with their dull, stony buzz and it's nothing like they expected; Tasha's leaning against the back end of the concrete corridor, legs shaking, sobbing, her limbs covered in blood.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so _shucking_ sorry." She was whimpering in a sort of rhythmic chant, not looking up from where her head was buried in her hands. Newt took her hands in his, lowering them, trying to assess how hurt she was. Her breathing was ragged and she winced whenever she moved her torso.

"Tasha, Tasha, look at me." He murmured, brushing his thumbs over her palms. She raised her eyes to meet Newt's and her stomach lurched; she could see him, the night before, staring at her as the doors closed, trying to reach out to her, to help her, and she didn't even say goodbye. "Tash, you're going to be OK." He told her, snapping her out of her thoughts. She pressed her lips together, moving her hands up to clutch at his wrists, before chanting her apologies with a new vigor.

They could hear Minho's shout of " _I need a Med-Jack around here!_ " behind them and Newt wrapped an arm around Tasha, noticing every wince and every gasp of pain, helping her to her feet, helping her hobble along. Her voice was low in his ear, whispering apologies to him over and over. He doesn't think he's ever heard her talk this much, and its not a good thing.

"It's OK, love, you're safe now." He murmured to her as the two of them limped to the homestead. Laying her on one of the beds as gently as possible, Newt, Minho and the Med-Jacks worked to clean the cuts and scrapes littering her body, washing her of the blood. It seemed that one of her ribs was broken, which they bandaged quickly, but apart from that, there were no other major injuries, just wounds and bruises. She made a small noise of pain when Minho went to apply a small amount of pressure to her rib to test the damage.

"Misjudged." She mumbled at his questioning look. He nodded, somewhat uncertain still, but allowed her to be bandaged. The real relief came not long after, when it was made clear that she hadn't been stung.

An hour later, when Tasha's bandaged up, slipping in and out of consciousness, staring at the ceiling through half-closed eyes. It's not an opportune moment to ask these sort of questions, but Newt's always been curious and Tasha's his best friend, so she won't mind… If she answers at all. Despite their close relationship, Tasha still refrains from speaking. To be fair, around Newt, she really doesn't need to.

"How did you do it?" He's the only one left now, in their little room (technically _his_ little room) Minho going to talk to Alby, and the Med-Jacks having gone back to the Slicers for the day. They're both on the same bed, Tasha laying on her back, arms laying on her stomach, not moving as to not jostle her wounds, Newt with his back on the wall behind the bed, arms crossed over his chest, ankles crossed and legs reaching half-way down the bed.

"Ran." Tasha sighed, quietly, not taking her eyes off of the thatched roof. He was silent for a moment, trying to decide whether to push her for answers or to move on. Tasha never really said much, but she always meant a whole lot.

"What's in there?" He asked, making up his mind. She was silent, which was not altogether surprising, but it was like she had seized up beside him, forcing him to turn and look at her. She lay there, mouth pressed into a thin line, eyes shut. Her hand reached out for Newt's and he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb while her other hand was clenched so tight her knuckles were turning painfully white.

"Grievers." She whispered. She opened her eyes, let out a slow, deliberate breath, and looked at him, he could see the pain in her heart and the fear that was radiating from her. "It's running and it's hiding and climbing up the ivy." She took a shaky breath as she tried to articulate in her sedated state. "But they're always there. I got hurt and I thought I would die. Jumped off a high ledge and miscalculated. Body slammed into the edge and that's…" she gestured to her ribs awkwardly, with her hand still laced with his. "Hit the ground and had to keep running. Found a hiding spot 'nd waited 'till sunrise." Her words were awkward and stilted, slurred in some places, with her drowsy state.

It's not until much later that they speak again.

"I'm sorry for making you worry." She yawned, the two of them both crammed into the bed together, trying to sleep side by side, Newt on his side and Tasha still laying on her back. Newt suggested a few times that he could get blankets and sleep on the floor, but Tasha shook her head and shuffled over as much as she could to make room.

"I'm sorry for not trying to save you." His voice was almost ashamed, his thoughts drifting back to the moments as the doors closed, Tasha's terrified eyes looking back at his. She swatted at his hand, gently, and he sighed.

"'Night." She told him, lacing their fingers together. Newt smiled softly.

"'Night."


	3. Old or New

"Tash, you and Ben go running today, we've got a new Greenie coming up." Minho's voice was loud and clear as it greeted Tasha. She ate her breakfast with the other Runners, seated by Ben, who nudged her leg. There was a pause and he followed up the sentence. "Tash, stay with him. Don't run off." Tash nodded once and rolled her eyes, but flashed a brief smile towards Ben, who grinned back. They both took their plates back to Frypan, who nodded at them, before heading to the map room.

"Should be a good day." Ben and Tash jogged to the gates, getting ready to explore their assigned sector as the rattling of the cage indicating that they were only a few minutes from meeting the new Glader. It was a slow start day and Minho could have chosen anyone to go running, but he also knew Tash and Ben were the least curious of the runners to meet the Greenies, so he gave them some liberty as they were the only ones running that day.

"Give 'em hell." Tash smirked to Newt as they passed him on their way, she was tightening the straps on her pack and he dragged his gaze from the cage to the runners. He snorted out a laugh and gave her a mock salute, continuing with his work, overseeing the vines.

"I'm going to check out this…" Ben's voice drifted off as he slowed to a jog; they were close to the end of their run and Tasha slowed beside him. She cocked her head to one side and followed his gaze to where there was a crack in the wall, big enough for a hand to fit through. The bottom seemed dark, but there were pinpricks of light leaching through the crack; Tasha could see why it interested him.

"Give me a yell when you're done." Tasha had debated internally on whether she should stay with him, but decided to get the last few portions of the run done and head back when he was ready. Ben nodded, breaking off and moving over to the crack.

"I won't be too long." He called over his shoulder and Tasha lost him as she turned a corner. It was a few minutes later when there was a yelp of pain and a few minutes more before Tasha came racing around the corner, back to where Ben was doubled over, hands clutching his stomach.

"Something shucking cut me." Blood was seeping down the front of his shirt from his stomach, a hole in the fabric with a small wound in the centre.

"You OK?" She asked, kneeling beside him, at eye level with his stomach, assessing the wound.

"Yeah, it was probably just a rock." He huffed out a laugh, but watched Tasha rip off the hem of her shirt and use the medical tape in her pack to attach it over the wound. Once he was properly bandaged, she stood, brushing off her knees and nodding once.

"Then let's go. It's getting late." She told him, a small smile on her face at her own ingenuity. Ben wrapped an arm around her shoulder and squeezed her, silently thanking her. "Let the Med-Jacks take a look, you don't want to get an infection."

"Thanks, Tash." He chuckled, letting go and jogging back to the entrance of the maze ahead of her. Tasha, upon exiting the maze, almost stopped dead, face to face with Chuck, whom she didn't really talk to, and the Greenie; a tall, brunette watching her and Ben with a curious expression.

"Hey Chuck, new Greenie?" Ben's eyes flashed over the Greenie before moving back to Chuck, acknowledging the new person's presence. "How does it feel to be promoted?" Ben smirked at Chuck as he ran past, Tasha speeding up to move away from the scene as Chuck grinned back at Ben and dipped his head.

"Feels pretty good." Chuck called back to Ben, who shook his head, amused, and ran to catch up with Tasha. it was no secret within the Glade that Tasha was incredibly antisocial around everyone but the runners. She had heard some of the others talk about how she would be useless in most other jobs because of that. She didn't care, on the contrary, she rather believed it. She was snapped out of her thoughts when Gally's shouts of ' _calm, calm down, calm_ ' garnered the attention of the entire glade. Tasha's attention snapped towards him, and saw a crowd gathering around the builder and the Greenie.

"You head to the Med-Jacks, I'm going to see what's happening." Tash told Ben over her shoulder, who nodded solemnly. She made her way over to the gathering at a light jog, where the Greenie was backing closer to the entrance of the maze which was likely to soon shut, unaware of this and heading further into the likelihood of being squished. He looked like a frightened animal surrounded by people.

"What the hell is wrong with you people?" He shouted, and Tasha narrowed her gaze, trying to determine if he was a threat to anyone. She gravitated towards Newt who was edging closer, his arm outstretched, trying to calm the Greenie down as Tasha was weighing up whether or not she could forcibly drag the Greenie back.

"Just calm down, alright?" Newt asked him, watching the Greenie with concern and subtly moving himself in between Tasha and the Greenie, not enough to be noticeable to anyone else, but enough to let Tasha know that he wanted her to back off.

"Why won't you tell me what's out there?" The Greenie shouted back, his arm gesturing wildly to the doors. Tasha peered into the maze and sighed deeply. _This kid didn't have a clue._

"We're just trying to protect you, man." Alby told him, walking slowly beside Tasha and Newt, voice calm and level, his hand out, mirroring Newt's.

"For your own good." Newt added. Tasha's face was blank once more and she could almost see the Greenie begging to run away, like she had. She felt her heart twinge and she realised she was feeling _pity_ for the guy.

"You can't just keep me here." He told them, anger and indignation thick in his words.

"We can't let you leave." Alby told him, his voice turning from calm to serious as the Greenie edge even further backwards.

"Why not?" He demanded. There was a pause, a baited breath, the crowd standing still and waiting. Then, the slow, grinding thump and gust of wind that accompanied the closing of the doors. The Greenie turned, slowly, to witness the stone move in its fluid, heavy motion. Everyone watched in silence, fear and horror evident on the his face as he saw the thick doors closing. Tasha, thinking no-one was noticing her, squeezed her eyes shut, forcing her body to relax as she felt her stomach turning; remembering her night in the maze and Newt's look of hopelessness as the gates shut. She felt a soft pressure on her hand and opened her eyes to see Newt focused on the Greenie, but his hand wrapped around hers, giving her a comforting squeeze. Tasha let out a small smile and squeezed his hand back, before focusing once more on the person in front of her.

"Next time," Gally began, interrupting the silence. Newt dropped her hand, attention turning once more to the Greenie, "I'm going to let you leave." He stalked off, past Tasha, who punched him in the shoulder without warning. He made a hiss of pain and clutched it, all eyes turning to the pair of them in the otherwise silent group.

"Slinthead." She hissed, gaze steely. The one thing she unashamedly hated was people (usually Gally) threatening others with a night in the maze over trivial things. This, of course, created friction between herself and the builder. Neither of them were interested in talking it out, both preferring to physicalize their distaste of the other.

"Shuck off, Tasha." He spat back, shoving her shoulders roughly. Tasha glared at him. Alby approached the Greenie, having witnessed and subsequently ignored the interaction between Tash and Gally, as he usually did, and lay a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Welcome to the Glade." He told him, an almost defeated edge to his voice and Tasha smirked, clapping her hand on Newt's shoulder, indicating that she was going to probably run around the glade until the urge to strangle Gally in his sleep died down. However, Newt's eyes widened and she could see him deliberately misinterpret the gesture.

"Ah, Tash, this is the Greenie." Newt sprang into action once Alby had left, when the Greenie was left staring up at the doors of the maze with horror in his eyes. He turned sharply on his heel and blinked rapidly, faced with Tasha and Newt. Tasha held out her hand and shot Newt a death glare, not caring that she was meant to be pleasant to the newbie.

 _That wasn't a cue to introduce me_. The glare said, and Newt shrugged. The Greenie shook her hand uncertainly, glancing from Newt to Tash.

"Greenie, meet Tash." Newt avoided Tasha's eyes. "You'll have to excuse her; she doesn't like people." Tasha sent Newt a withering look, which he also, pointedly, did not look at. The poor Greenie looked so confused. "Just give us a sec', OK?" Newt grinned at the Greenie who frowned, but nodded. Newt pulled Tasha away, the two standing close enough to hear the other's low voice; it was intimate, Newt's hand still on Tasha's wrist, heads close together. The Greenie could even see Tasha's smile as she talked to Newt, the smile of complete ease around another person.

"Where's Ben, is he OK?" Newt asked. Tasha's eyes flicked towards the Med-Jack hut before flicking back to the Greenie opposite, and down to the grass.

"Med-Jacks. Just a scratch." She told him, Newt dipped his head, nodding. With this new information, Newt's tone became lighter.

"You going to the bonfire?" He murmured, one eyebrow raised. Tasha nodded, smile on her face and she sensed that he got all the information he needed, that the conversation was at a close. "Don't kick Gally in the face again, OK, love?" Newt's voice was louder, enough for the Greenie to hear, as Tasha took off towards the homestead. He gave her a small smirk and Tasha rolled her eyes, leaving to deposit her gear by her hammock and report the crack in the maze to Minho. As she walked away, however, she turned and gave a small wave to the Greenie, who waved back, bemusedly. Newt laughed, watching Tasha leave as he joined the Greenie by the doors once more.


	4. Greenie or Thomas

Tasha had considered throwing her burning spear at Gally several times over the past five minutes, waiting with it in hand for the rest of the Gladers to gather their own spears, however she ultimately decided against it. She'd done it before, just missing him and singeing off enough of his hair for him to smell the burning, and a week in the slammer was not worth it especially if her intention was to miss. As it was, she stood beside Alby, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, waiting for the signal for everyone to throw their flaming spears at the pyre to start the bonfire. Minho stood on her other side, expression hard, clutching his own torch in his right hand, holding it aloft, careful not to put the flame too close to his face.

"Light 'em up!" Tash could see the Greenie flinch as Alby shouted across the gathering of people, flames lighting up the night sky, the bonfire crackling to life before them, bathing the Gladers in a warm glow. Tasha shied away from the fire, having almost fallen into it while intoxicated by Gally's brew a few too many times, even falling close enough to burn her hands, the scarring plainly visible against her palms. She watched from her position on the edge of the crowd, beside Minho, as one of the newer boys tried a few flips that he had been practicing, and almost pulled it off, if not for landing on his knees. Tasha took a swig of her drink, the horrendous taste burning her throat and searing through her veins, readying herself with a few quick stretches, before performing a roundoff back handspring across the cleared area to the hollers of the surrounding boys. Tasha prided herself on her trademark flip, she had learned it off of a Runner who died within the maze, and she showed it every bonfire in honour of his memory. Newt grinned from where he and the Greenie stood beside her once she had landed, his own thoughts flashing to the flipping Runner and how devastated the Glade has been to lose him. She grinned back, taking his cup from his hands and finishing the last sip as he feigned mock indignation.

"That was my bloody drink, shank." He scoffed as she lowered the now empty cup. Tasha raised a single, amused eyebrow at him, cup still clutched to her chest. The rest of the group had split up by now, some were dancing in the light of the bonfire, some were eating the food that had been brought up in Thomas' box, some, mostly Runners, were brooding by the fire. Only the Greenie was left to witness their interaction.

"Willing to run for it?" She asked, her voice low and playful, as it only was when she was intoxicated, tapping him on the nose with the cup. A responding smirk came over Newt's face, it looked as if he was about to agree, eyes flicking to the cup, but reached out and snatched the it from her hands.

"Not even a little bit." He told her, as he took it, Tasha realising what had happened a few moments later. By then, there was silence and Newt's expression dropped, as if he was contemplating something far more serious. "Where's Ben?" Tasha hesitated, her own face dropping as she thought; she hadn't seen him since he'd gone to the Med-Jacks, she knew something was wrong, but she didn't want to panic. She glanced over to where Minho was sitting by the fire, surrounded by the other Runners. Sensing her gaze, he glanced up at her, and tipped his head to the side, dark eyes asking silent questions, as they always did.

" _Ben?_ " She mouthed, it took a moment with Minho frowning, before he pointed in the direction of the homestead. Tasha drew in a deep breath, looking over at the run-down, half-assed excuse for a home, before she nodded in understanding and turned back to Newt. "Sleeping." She told him, to which Newt nodded, solemnly. Looking at her hands, suddenly feeling smothered in the group atmosphere, she coughed awkwardly, "I'm… going to run." She mumbled, avoiding Newt's gaze and took off before he could talk her out of it.

"Shouldn't someone go after her?" The Greenie's voice was loud enough that Tasha could hear it a few metres away, his eyes on her retreating back. She wasn't sure what Newt was going, whether he was avoiding looking at her, or was watching her leave like he always did, but she heard his answer.

"You can run after her if you want, you won't bloody-well catch her." There was a laugh in his voice, but also something defeated, as if he had seen her run off a million times, and not been able to catch up with her. He used to be able to catch her, run after her and keep her grounded, but that was lost to the bitter despair of the maze, the bitter despair of inevitability that they were all inflicted with eventually. Some just managed to outlive it.

The woods was quiet this time of night, they usually were whenever there was a bonfire ( _unless two of the other Gladers wanted some time alone and she just outright avoided them when they did - for all their lack of talking, they certainly were very loud_ ). She weaved through the underbrush, vines curling around her ankles, pulling her back as she moved forward and through to the deadheads. She took up her usual seat across from the skeletons of the Gladers who gave up, voice dead in her throat as she looked at them, fingers lightly scraping over words on the side of her seat. Tasha remembered being so close to joining them, mere days after being trapped in the maze, the crushing sense of isolation and eventual destruction that they were plagued with.

 _There's no way out_.

She spent hours, sitting just like she was now, carving those words into the trunk she sat on, hands trembling as she held her knife, tears in her eyes that she refused to wipe away. She planned her routes to Alby's hut, knew when he was in there, when it was safe to go in and retrieve the gun… _Safe…_ She knew it was a big decision for herself, to just end everything - one less person to worry about, she tried to justify, but then Newt was by her side, lifting the knife from her fingers, holding her close as she sobbed, pulling her through the darkness, as she had done for him. She owed him her life. 

It took her a moment to pull herself from her memories, landing jarringly in the present and to stand when her legs weren't shaking. She ran back to the bonfire as fast as her legs would carry her, to get herself another two cups of drink to calm her nerves, to drink her way out of her memories (not that it ever worked). Gally snorted and called her an impolite term as she poured her third and she flipped him off for it, but headed over to the rest of the Runners.

"Minho." It wasn't a question as she looked down at the Keeper of the Runners. He dipped his head towards her in greeting and looked around. Tasha liked that about Minho, he, like her, didn't waste words. He nodded towards the barrel where Gally kept his drink on tap, Tasha pressed her own cup into Minho's hands, allowing him to take a tentative sip as she poured herself another cup, not thinking about how much she was drinking lest she stop and be consumed by another wave of self loathing, and went to settle on the pile of wood beside Minho. He moved over and they sat, legs pressed together, staring moodily into their respective drinks, not talking.

"Can you stay here tomorrow, incase Ben's not OK?" He asked, breaking the silence. There was a pause and Tasha nodded once. "Thanks." Minho told her, and Tasha shot him a brief smile. They sat in their companionable silence after that, eyes lifting from their amber liquor, watching the builders, who had begun to play their ' _push-me-out-of-the-ring_ ' game, with Gally in the ring. _As usual_ , Tasha thought, bitterly. She began to sense a gaze upon her, and she pulled her own away, seeing Newt and the Greenbean staring over at her and Minho. She nudged Minho's leg and nodded towards them, neither of them were focused on Tasha, but rather on Minho, and he looked up, catching the Greenie's eye before looking away.

Tash stood without a word, leaving Minho to his thoughts, heading over to the barrel once more, grabbing a cup for the Greenie, as he was using Newt's cup, and filled it up. It was less than halfway full when she heard an out-of-breath mocking voice from behind her.

"Watch it, lightweight, aren't you going a bit hard on the stuff?" Gally, panting lightly from his exertions in the ring, rose his horrendous eyebrows at her, smirk on his face as he spoke.

"I can drink you under the table, shuck-face." Tasha snapped, barely looking away from the cup. Gally snorted, but didn't challenge her on it, turning back to face his next opponent. Tasha made her way over to Newt and the Greenie, cups in hand, managing to only spill a little bit down her shirt. "Greenie." She said, her voice clipped with annoyance as she interrupted Newt halfway through his sentence, plopping down on his left and reaching right across him to hand the Greenie his new cup of drink. He wrinkled his nose at it, but took it, Tasha staring at the gates of the Maze before her, taking a long draught of her drink.

"What's wrong Tasha, Gally being a slinthead?" Newt asked, his voice holding nothing but amusement and a little bit of condescension. Tasha pressed her lips together, hardly amused at his tone, more so because it was the truth than anything else, which was was just as much of an answer as any vocalisation would be. The Greenie's eyebrows knitted together, and almost like he could read the kid's mind, Newt turned to the Greenie, "Gally once dropped a beam on her foot and broke it, meaning she couldn't run for a month, so she broke his nose in return. They've been feuding ever since." The Greenie nodded slowly and watched Tasha warily; she took a sip of her own drink, before giving him a small smile. It took the Greenie a moment to stop looking at her as if she was going to launch herself across Newt at him in a murderous rampage, but his gaze slowly slip back to Newt.

"What did you mean, no-one's ever survived a night in the maze?" The Greenie asked, returning to Newt and what must have been their previous conversation before Tasha interrupted. Newt hesitated, feeling Tasha freeze up beside him. Tasha swallowed hard as Newt pondered on how to proceed.

"No-one goes into the maze and comes out alive." Tasha managed, her voice intensely level. Her mind was already heading back to the morning in the Med-Jack hut after she had been stranded in the maze.

 _Alby called Minho, and the Med-Jacks in to speak with himself and Tasha, who were already within the cramped hut._

" _Tasha. Tell us what you know about the maze at night." Alby looked at the runner, who took in a shaky breath, eyes staring intently at her knees. Her hands were trembling as she played with the hem of her shirt, which was hiding her thick bandages keeping her rib in place._

" _The maze, it's always changing. I've seen it." There was a frown from Minho and Newt, and she closed her eyes, swallowing. She forcibly stilled her hands, the low groan of the wall's movement reverberating through her skull. "I've seen the stone move, I've seen it change and I've seen the grievers."_

" _What?" Alby snapped, and Tasha lowered her hand to the bed, fingers grasping at the linen._

" _They're fast, almost caught me, but I was faster." It took her a moment, but she felt Newt's fingers interlock with hers and squeeze her hand. "I don't think I could make it again. It was sheer luck that I'm even alive."_

" _But you made it." It was Minho's voice, quiet and reasoning, and totally at odds with Tasha's reply in the form of a scathing recount._

" _I hid for half the night in a crack in the wall, broke my rib and scratched all up my left side." Tasha turned sharply on him, eyes full of blazing anger at his insinuations. "If you go into the maze at night, you are going to die." Her voice lowered to a harsh whisper as she moved from the bed, stalking closer to Minho as he shrivelled down. Her hand, without Newt holding it, holding her, was cold and empty and she moved back to be closer to him. She needed the support._

" _You don't have to be a runner anymore." Alby told her, diffusing the tension. Tasha turned, lips pressed together in a harsh line, angular and determined._

" _No. I want to be a runner. I_ need _to be a runner. I know what I'm up against." She told him, fingers working to communicate her inarticulable desires. Alby nodded once, managing to translate her hand gestures and words._

" _Well, we can't tell the others that she survived a night in the maze, they're going to think its possible." Clint, one of the Med-Jacks spoke up, hands folded over his chest, frown on his face as he reasoned with Alby. Newt stood suddenly and all attention turned to him._

" _So we don't bloody tell anyone. No-one has survived a night in the maze. No-one has seen a shucking griever. Agreed?" Newt asked, looking at the surrounding company. Tasha felt herself release the tension she had been holding, like a full body sigh, and nodded, along with the others. "Good, its agreed." There was silence, which was only broken when Minho sent a silent apology to Tasha, who nodded understandably._

" _How long until Tasha can run again?" His voice was clear as he turned to the Med-Jacks._

" _About a month, maybe less." Jeff said, shrugging. Tasha did and internal fist-pump, grinning, snatching Newt's hand in her own out of relief, and the need to be in contact with him._

" _Until then, you'll be working with as a Track-Hoe." Alby told her. Tasha dipped her head in acknowledgement, and rubbed her thumb along the side of Newt's hand._

"What happens to them?" The Greenie pressed, pulling Tasha and Newt back to the present. Tasha took another sip of her drink as Newt cleared his throat.

"We call them Grievers." Newt's eyes were focused on the closed stone doors in front of the trio, occasionally glancing at the Greenie. "Of course, no-one's ever seen one and lived to tell about it… but they're out there." There was silence where the three of them sat, lost in thought, Tasha's mind focusing on slimy skin that hid metal innards and deadly viruses. Newt was the one who surfaced first, having never seen a Griever, stopping his imagination short before it could run too wild. "Well, that's enough questions for one night." He turned to the Greenie, grinning, "you're supposed to be the guest of honour." He clapped the Greenie on the shoulder, smile wide. The Greenie tried to object, weakly, but Newt was already on his feet, holding out a hand for the newbie, his whole aura seeming inviting to the confused Greenbean.

"Come on, we'll show you around. Ain't that right, Tash?" His eyes snapped to Tasha, who was contemplating getting up. At the mention of her name, her head snapped up. The Greenie watched as she processed the suggestion and jumped to her feet.

"Of course, I'll get more drinks." Tasha grinned agreeably, reaching out for Newt's cup and the Greenie's cu once she stopped swaying as she stood. Newt's brow furrowed and he held his own out of her reach, hand on her shoulder, steadying her.

"I think you've had enough, love, just come for a walk." He told her. The Greenie would have sworn that Tasha would have objected, but she took a deep breath and nodded, following after the two of them. The Greenie frowned, watching how Tasha quietly obeyed Newt's orders and followed after the other Glader, mood flipping from giddy to restrained. The Greenie walked quickly to catch up with them.

"Now, over here, we have the builders." Newt spread his hands out wide, gesturing to Gally and his group of boys, turning to face the Greenie, walking backwards, Tasha now in front of him, making sure he didn't trip. Tasha rolled her eyes as Gally roared, pushing another boy out of the ring with force. "Very good with their hands, not a lot going on upstairs." Newt raised a single eyebrow, tapping his finger to his temple. Tasha snorted with laughter but didn't let it last long. "And we've got Winston, Keeper of the Slicers." A smaller group of boys were gathered around to the left, one telling an animated story to the others, who laughed and jeered with approval, Tasha swallowed hard and tried not to shudder, being thoroughly disgusted by the workings of the Slicers. Two young Gladers breezed past Tash, Newt and the Greenie, who Newt pointed out with a grin. "And two Med-Jacks; Clint, Jeff."

"Hey! What's up, Newt?" One asked, acknowledging the little party, as the other said greeted them in an equal manner. Tasha nodded to them, which they returned in kind, moving on towards the Slicers.

"They spend most of their time bandaging up the Slicers." Newt said, grin on his lips. They came to a halt by the side of the Builders' ring, the Greenie turning on Newt. Tasha stood beside Newt, watching the sky rather than the other Gladers, marvelling at the stars above.

"What if I want to be a Runner?" Asked the Greenie. Tasha's gaze snapped forwards and she clenched her fists, gulping down deep breaths of air, trying not to shout obscenities.

"Have you been listening to a word I've just said?" Asked Newt, almost incredulously, followed almost immediately by Tasha's disapproving and incredibly restrained tone.

"No-one _wants_ to be a Runner." She frowned and the Greenie, and Newt put his hand on her shoulder, calming her down.

"What she means is, you don't get to decide. You have to get chosen." Newt's voice was level, combating Tasha's aggravated tone. Tasha closed her eyes, taking in yet another deep breath, before breathing out slowly and opening her eyes.

"Get chosen, by who?" The Greenie inquired, seemingly ignoring Tasha's outburst. Granted, she wasn't usually this passionate, not by a long shot, but her emotions always came free when she had been drinking. At that exact moment, one of the younger boys was sent hurtling into the Greenie's back by Gally, who was taking in a few gulps of fresh air, light sheen of sweat on his face.

"What do you say, Greenie? Want to see what you're made of?" He was offering the Greenie a challenge and Tasha hoped that the Greenie would take it.

A chant broke out - _"Greenie! Greenie! Greenie!"_ \- and though Tasha kept her lips shut, she clapped along with the rest of them when the Greenie begrudgingly accepted, though Newt seemed a little bit hesitant.

"Rules are simple, Greenie. I try and push you out of the circle, you last more than five seconds." Gally said, simply. Tasha clucked her tongue disapprovingly and Gally sent her a withering look in return. The Greenie nodded, trying to adapt his stance to match Gally's, powerful, legs apart, shoulders back. It didn't help. Gally ran at him, arms outstretched, taking the Greenie by surprise and pushing him with half as much force as he could muster, which still sent the kid flying into the crowd. Some of the other gladers who formed the circle pushed the kid back into the ring, only for Gally to have him knocked flat on his face. "Come on Greenie, we're not done yet." He told him, tone mockingly. Tasha felt a surge of anger and wanted the Greenie to just punch Gally in his awful face; she could hear Newt's almost disappointed sigh from where she stood beside him.

"Stop calling me Greenie." The newbie huffed as he brushed himself off, sand floating to the ground.

"Stop calling you that? What do you want to be called?" The two were circling each other now, Gally's words moving from generic banter to outright provoking and Tasha fidgeted with anger. "Shank?" Asked Gally, mockingly. The other boys jeered and echoed him, as Gally smirked, "What do you think, boys, does he look like a ' _Shank_ '?" There was anger in the Greenie's eyes that made him run to Gally, to push against his shoulders and actually maneuver himself and his opponent around the ring for a few moments, however, it seemed as though Gally was only humouring him, as the Greenie ended up on the ground within three seconds. "You know what? I think I've settled on Shank." Gally smirked and Tasha felt her own muscles tense up, ready for a fight, seeing the way the Greenie was being pushed around as if he was nothing.

"This is his fight." Newt mumbled to Tasha, and his words kept her grounded, made her still as she watched the Greenie go in again, this time being pushed across the ring by Gally as the two were locked in a stalemate. But this time, the Greenie tripped Gally up and the Builder ended up splayed on the ground. Tasha couldn't help but cheer with the others at the turn of events. The Greenie looked confused, crouched on the ground, as if he couldn't believe he had won. He stood slowly, as it was almost as if it was in slow motion.

"Not bad for a Greenie." Gally scoffed, swiping the kid's legs from under him, sending him crashing to the ground, head hitting the sand, pain written all over his face. Then it transformed, slowly at first, from pain to realisation, before he muttered to himself.

" _Thomas_." He kept repeating the name as if it was both familiar and new to him, as if he had spoken it a thousand times but only remembered it now. At the confused looks the crowd was giving him, he let out an incredulous laugh. "I remember my name! It's Thomas!" There's a pause, before Alby grins from the crowd and pointed at him.

"Thomas!" He cried, which was soon joined in by the others, some clapping a bemused Gally on the back, most others going in to hug and congratulate Thomas, the Greenie. Tasha watched, small smile on her face, arms crossed over her chest, relaxed in the suddenly easy, familial atmosphere.

"What do you think of him?" Newt asked, seeing her almost proud smile.

"He's not a shuck-face, I'll give him that." She mused, wondering whether she should go and hug the Greenie. Newt snorted.

"You really are drunk. You know Gally'll give you a slap if you need sobering up." He told her, almost offhandedly. Tasha flinched, but knew he was joking, the delivery was too good. Her tone was exasperated as she replied.

"You cause me pain, Newt." She turned to him, warm, friendly smile on her face. He hardly ever saw this side of her, the side that was proud of the boys, that thought of them as her family, but he liked it. He liked every side of her, the cold, fast side; the warm, familial side; the easy-going, comfortable side; even her bitter, harsh, almost self-loathing side. She turned back, sighing with content. "Now go congratulate Thomas, I know you want to." She nodded over to Thomas, who was bewildered at the attention now being presented to him. Newt smirked, wrapping his arm around Tasha's shoulder and hugging her quickly.

"Have fun, love, don't break any noses." He told her. He went to walk off, but turned back, taking her hands in his. "Find Minho, or Ben, or someone. Just… be with people, OK?" Tasha pressed her lips together, suddenly serious, but nodded. Both of them knew that when she was tipsy and left to her own devices, she became miserable and melancholy.

"Minho's around, I'll find him." She breathed, hugging him back before letting him go to be with Thomas. She didn't find Minho, she chanced a glance at the homestead, but decided to instead, head to the woods once more.


	5. Past or Present

The highest branches of the trees barely grazed the sky with their wooden fingers, curling up towards the sun that never showed itself, the clouds that never appeared. Not tonight, not ever. Tonight, Tasha stood upon the tallest of the branches, the wood dipping beneath her weight, head peering through the canopy to the sky above, the walls being the only thing blocking her vision of the night sky. She remembers, albeit somewhat vaguely, how she used to stare at the moon, gaze cast towards the heavens, marvelling at the immensity of space, full of wonder about different life forms, if she would ever meet them. Someone lies beside her, lacing their fingers with hers, pressing a kiss to her temple, whispering about how everything's going to be fine; _oh_ , she's crying in that memory, she thinks. She's grasping at it now, trying to hold it in her hands like silk being pulled from her fingers, too quick and smooth for her to latch , she stands, swaying precariously on a branch that was not designed to take even a toddler's weight, wondering if she could pause this moment forever. There was an almost painful serenity surrounding the deadheads, every sound from the bonfire floating to her world of almost suspended animation above the treetops.

" _Tasha! Get the shuck down from there!"_ The voice she hears is panicked and distressed, and it takes Tasha a moment to realise that she's hearing a memory, that Newt's not pleading with her. She can't help it though, dipping into the black smog that clouds her vision whenever she's drunk and alone, the memories that she'd rather WCKD take away than leave her with, suffering and suffocating on the thick, slimy agony.

 _It was only a few days after her night in the maze, her sitting on the highest branch, one arm curled around the treetrunk, the other playing with a loose thread from the bandages around her ribs, breath coming in shaky gasps as her thoughts began to spiral out of control._

" _No." She spat, harsher than she meant, lashing out out Newt when she would rather lash out at herself, hands trembling as she dug her nails into the bark. She swallowed thickly, eyes stinging from both the cold, night air and the tears slowly dripping from them. The stars were bright, they shone in her eyes._

" _Tash, Tash please, talk to me." He pleaded, leaning heavily on his injured leg, palms pressed against the tree she inhabited. Tasha couldn't risk looking down, lest she break and decide to jump then and there - she couldn't… couldn't do that to Newt._

" _I'm not meant to be here. I'm living on borrowed time, Newt," she slammed her shaking fist into the trunk and felt her chest tighten as the beginnings of a panic attack curled around her ribs. She pressed her forehead against the trunk and took slow, laborious breaths, trying to calm the erratic beating of her heart. It wasn't the heights, she didn't mind height. It was her own mind causing her pain and grief, her mind and that_ damn _maze._

" _Please, come down here." His voice was heavy, weary, as though he doubted his own potential to reach her. She couldn't hear him properly, with his own forehead pressed against the tree, as if by some miracle, the tree would grant him strength. "Tash, I need you here." She didn't hear him at first, and when she figured out what he said, she thought she had misheard, but no. It took her a moment, to focus on Newt rather than the pain in her hands and chest. She peered down, gulping at the distance, but there he was, peering up into the treetops, deep brown eyes focused on her. She moved slowly at first, getting into a standing position from the precarious branch she had inhabited, to shimmy down the trunk. It took her a moment to find the right words, he looked like he was going to hug her from relief, but he just took her small hands in his larger ones, such concern in her eyes that it made her heart ache and more tears began to fall._

" _No, you don't." She managed without sobbing to get her words out and Newt was silent as he processed her words, holding her hands as her ribs ached, bruises painted along her arms and legs, slowly fading to yellow. He jerked back, dropping her hands and looking at her with horror in his eyes at her words, as if they were unthinkable._

" _Don't ever say that! Don't ever think that!" He was aghast, his face a picture of betrayal, making Tasha's blood run cold with guilt. She didn't want to be that cause of Newt feeling betrayed, she never wanted to hurt him. Tasha couldn't help but begin hyperventilating, gasping sharply, tears now streaming down her cheeks as she reached for the waistband of her pants, pulling out the cold, metal gun that she had tucked there. She waved it almost carelessly, far too close to her head for Newt to feel comfortable - nothing about this was comfortable._

" _Why do you think they sent this up?" Her voice cracked and she took a moment to swallow, squeezing her eyes shut and taking a deep breath, opening her eyes to see Newt's fixed on the gun in terror. "It was a test -_ I _was a test," she cried, "a test to see how long you people could last, to see how long it took for you to crack. I'm a fluke, I'm not meant to survive." Her words hit home as soon as she had said them, and she almost crumpled then and there, only finally putting into words how little faith she had in herself. She didn't though, she stood, a smile on her lips like he had never seen, like she was gazing into the mouth of oblivion and laughing in the face of death. It was bitter and cold and it didn't reach her eyes - eyes full of sadness and despair. Newt knew what that was like, the realisation that maybe everything was in vain, that maybe they would never make it out and that there was no point to it all. She's looking him in the eyes, or, not actually in the eyes, but a spot between his eyes, to avoid looking directly at him at all. The gun shook in her hand as she rose it, not taking her eyes off that space on his head that allowed her to avoid the heartbreak of his gaze._

 _"Go." She told him, barely sniffling, pressing the barrel of the gun to her temple. She swallowed and Newt could see what she was about to do. With a burst of speed that surprised both of them, Newt leapt forward, arms out, shoving the shorter Runner into the tree behind her, arm going slack as she felt the bark against her back and Newt's hands on her shoulders. His left hand move slowly down her arm as he pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closed because he couldn't look at her, not now. Tasha's mouth was open, as if she was going to say something, some quiet exclamation, but she couldn't find her voice, It was like she was frozen, like her brain had stopped and left her body to fend for itself, but it was imploding. She didn't move as he pulled her hand, still clasping the gun, to press the barrel of the gun to his own temple, her hand had gone still while his shook. "You're such a shuck-face." Tasha whispered, tears in her eyes, finding her voice. Newt's own eyes flickered open and he managed to catch her gaze, her soul-crushingly broken gaze._

" _Shoot." He told her, voice too level to be natural. They stood like that, Tasha pressed against the tree with Newt's hand on her shoulder and one pointing a gun to his head as he bent down, their foreheads pressed together, as if it were some sweet, intimate, non life-threatening situation._

" _Why are you doing this?" She whimpered, finally. There was pain in Newt's eyes and it hit him that she couldn't even begin to imagine her own value. He smirked, though it was at odds with the current situation, and he let out a laugh, trying to release some tension._

" _Bloody Hell, Tash, you're my best shucking friend. If you go, I'll walk straight into that maze and let the Grievers eat me alive." He told her, Tasha sucked in a breath and shook her head trying to squirm away, trying to pull her hand away from the gun, but he kept his grip firm over hers._

" _There's no way out." She whispered, fingernails of her free hand digging into the bark of the tree and her tears now falling once more. Newt's expression softened at her defeated mewl._

" _Then say that." He told her, rubbing his thumb across her shoulder, "Scream it to the world. Tell every other shucking Glader in this shucking Glade, I don't care." He let out a long breath and pulled back from her, letting go of Tasha's hand and the gun. Her arm and the gun fell, the gun landing with a thump in the shrubs by their feet. "Just don't try and make a way out where there is none." He said, despite moving his head and arms, he didn't increase the space between them. Tasha looked up at him and tried to sort out her thoughts._

" _But you've got your place here, I…" She trailed off, her own argument weak and pitiful as it fell from her lips. She cast her gaze to the gun on the ground, sagging against the tree, letting out a deep sigh._

" _You've got me. You've got Minho. You've got Alby. You've got the Runners." He told her, snapping her attention from the gun to himself, pulling her from where she was slumped against the tree and into a rough embrace. Tasha tensed up at the unexpected contact, before wrapping her arms tightly around him, despite her injured ribs, sobbing into his chest, finally letting go._

" _There's no way out, Newt." She whispered, between sobs, her voice shaking. She knows it should be killing her inside, that Newt's seeing her like this, so broken and defeated,_ but _, she thinks_ , perhaps I'm already dead inside _. At that thought, she clutched Newt tighter, willing it not to be true._

" _Maybe there isn't," He mused, unaware of the thoughts inside her head, before pulling back, arms still wrapped around Tasha, small smile on his face, "but maybe there is. It's that maybe that has to keep you going." His voice had gained almost an edge of authority and Tasha knew he was speaking with experience. It took Tasha a moment, staring into his deep, brown eyes, that something clicked. She realised that it wasn't killing her inside because she didn't mind him seeing her like that, that she wanted him to know everything about her; and she wanted to know everything about him._

" _It's not the '_ maybe' _keeping me going." She said quietly, a new quality to her voice, he went to ask what it was, but she stood on the tips of her toes to press her lips to his. He made a noise of surprise, but he kissed back fiercely, bringing his hands to cup her cheek and pull her closer, Tasha wrapped her arms around his neck. It could have been seconds or it could have been hours, but everything in that moment just felt_ right _._

 _Tasha, upon realising what she was doing, pulled back with a fierce gasp, confusion painted clearly on her face, trying to blink away tears that she didn't know had begun to fall again. "Newt, oh, Newt I'm sorry." She scrambled to get away, crouching by the base of the tree, tears dripping onto the foliage as she tried not to throw up. Newt, who, granted, was also confused, pressed his forehead against the tree, sucking in deep breaths of air._

" _What the bloody shuck was that?" He huffed, bewildered rather than angry, panting slightly. Tasha gave a watery laugh, wrapping her arms around her knees and leaning against the tree._

" _I'm so sorry." She shook her head, as if marvelling at her own poor thought. Newt frowned for a moment, leaning on against the tree with his shoulder._

" _You don't need to apologise - I didn't_ not _like it-" He was cut off by Tasha, who had always been poor at communication, standing abruptly. She swayed on the spot for a moment, whether it was from the blood rushing to her head or from being nose-to-nose with Newt._

" _Here." She swallowed, leaning down and out of the direct contact, passed him the gun from where it lay beside her. Newt's hands were trembling, but he took it. "Take it back to Alby, tell him I took it, I deserve time in the slammer for all the trouble I caused." She laughed, bitterly._

" _For all the time you've spent in there, you might have learned to bring a book." Newt smirked, though he still felt shaken up inside. His smile slipped as he tried with a softer angle this time. "Tasha," he began hesitantly._

" _Can we just… not talk about this?" She asked, finally looking up at him and into his eyes, her own now red rimmed, but with no tears in them. Newt let out a short huff of breath and tipped his head to the side._

" _We're going to have to talk about it some time." He reasoned. Tasha looked at the ground again, losing the connection that was so very brief. Newt felt his heart fall._

" _Just not tonight." Tasha pleaded, taking his hand. Newt looked at where their fingers interlocked and swallowed hard, gun in one hand, Tasha in the other. He nodded, before giving a soft smile. They began to walk through the Deadheads, back to the homestead._

" _You've never been good at communication." He sighed, looking over his shoulder. Tasha smiled, albeit sadly, and nodded once. "At least this; what are we?" He asked, turning back to her, frown on his face, stopping. Tasha swallowed once, eyes cast to the ground, avoiding his gaze again, lips pressed into a thin line. She swallowed, before looking up into his eyes._

" _I don't know." Was all she said, in a faint whisper -_

"Tasha! Come back, get down from there!" The call sliced so cleanly through her memories that it was jarring, forcing her to slam into reality and almost fall from her perch. It was Chuck, far below, calling up to her. He must have been sent by one of the other Runners as it was no secret that everyone else, even sweet, little Chuck, avoided Tasha as best they could, because the novelty of a girl in the Glade wore off once she started running from them all except the other Runners. Tasha climbed slowly from her spot in the trees, joining Chuck on the ground with a faint, sad smile on her face. "You OK?" He asked. Tasha nodded and gestured for him to continue along, back to the bonfire. They made it to the clearing, to which Chuck called out, "See, she's fine!" Tasha froze at the sudden attention and caught Newt's gaze across the fire; he raised his eyebrows from where he was drinking with Thomas. Tasha went to say something, but sighed, shook her head and shrugged, before joining Minho and his usual quiet aura that she enjoyed. Newt frowned slightly, but shrugged himself, and turned back to Thomas.

"You OK, Tasha?" The Keeper of the Runners raised a single eyebrow at her, Tasha let out a long sigh and knocked their knees together, giving a sad smile. Her voice was clear as she spoke and she hadn't been crying, so it hadn't been the worst night she had had.

"I will be." It took her a moment, but she barked a short laugh, "I just have to sober up. You know how I get." Minho nodded, despite that fact that she was avoiding looking at everyone, but gazing out to the maze with an almost distrusting glare. He simply bumped her shoulder with his and handed her a glass of water.


	6. Past or Present (TRIGGER FREE)

Tasha, upon leaving the group at Thomas' bonfire, heads to the Deadheads, and finds herself pulled into a memory. It is a few days after her night in the maze and she is having a panic attack atop a tree. Newt comes to find her and when they talk, she says that she believes she is unneeded, which is why she wishes to end her own life with the gun they sent up in the box with her. Newt stops her by endangering his own life, showing her that he needs her to be there for him. Tasha breaks down and kisses Newt;

" _It's not the '_ maybe' _keeping me going." She said quietly, a new quality to her voice, he went to ask what it was, but she stood on the tips of her toes to press her lips to his. He made a noise of surprise, but he kissed back fiercely, bringing his hands to cup her cheek and pull her closer, Tasha wrapped her arms around his neck. It could have been seconds or it could have been hours, but everything in that moment just felt_ right _._

 _Tasha, upon realising what she was doing, pulled back with a fierce gasp, confusion painted clearly on her face, trying to blink away tears that she didn't know had begun to fall again. "Newt, oh, Newt I'm sorry." She scrambled to get away, crouching by the base of the tree, tears dripping onto the foliage as she tried not to throw up. Newt, who, granted, was also confused, pressed his forehead against the tree, sucking in deep breaths of air._

" _What the bloody shuck was that?" He huffed, bewildered rather than angry, panting slightly. Tasha gave a watery laugh, wrapping her arms around her knees and leaning against the tree._

" _I'm so sorry." She shook her head, as if marvelling at her own poor thought. Newt frowned for a moment, leaning on against the tree with his shoulder._

" _You don't need to apologise - I didn't_ not _like it-" He was cut off by Tasha, who had always been poor at communication, standing abruptly. She swayed on the spot for a moment, whether it was from the blood rushing to her head or from being nose-to-nose with Newt._

" _Here." She swallowed, leaning down and out of the direct contact, passed him the gun from where it lay beside her. Newt's hands were trembling, but he took it. "Take it back to Alby, tell him I took it, I deserve time in the slammer for all the trouble I caused." She laughed, bitterly._

" _For all the time you've spent in there, you might have learned to bring a book." Newt smirked, though he still felt shaken up inside. His smile slipped as he tried with a softer angle this time. "Tasha," he began hesitantly._

" _Can we just… not talk about this?" She asked, finally looking up at him and into his eyes, her own now red rimmed, but with no tears in them. Newt let out a short huff of breath and tipped his head to the side._

" _We're going to have to talk about it some time." He reasoned. Tasha looked at the ground again, losing the connection that was so very brief. Newt felt his heart fall._

" _Just not tonight." Tasha pleaded, taking his hand. Newt looked at where their fingers interlocked and swallowed hard, gun in one hand, Tasha in the other. He nodded, before giving a soft smile. They began to walk through the Deadheads, back to the homestead._

" _You've never been good at communication." He sighed, looking over his shoulder. Tasha smiled, albeit sadly, and nodded once. "At least this; what are we?" He asked, turning back to her, frown on his face, stopping. Tasha swallowed once, eyes cast to the ground, avoiding his gaze again, lips pressed into a thin line. She swallowed, before looking up into his eyes._

" _I don't know." Was all she said, in a faint whisper -_

"Tasha! Come back, get down from there!" The call sliced so cleanly through her memories that it was jarring, forcing her to slam into reality and almost fall from her perch. It was Chuck, far below, calling up to her. He must have been sent by one of the other Runners as it was no secret that everyone else, even sweet, little Chuck, avoided Tasha as best they could, because the novelty of a girl in the Glade wore off once she started running from them all except the other Runners. Tasha climbed slowly from her spot in the trees, joining Chuck on the ground with a faint, sad smile on her face. "You OK?" He asked. Tasha nodded and gestured for him to continue along, back to the bonfire. They made it to the clearing, to which Chuck called out, "See, she's fine!" Tasha froze at the sudden attention and caught Newt's gaze across the fire; he raised his eyebrows from where he was drinking with Thomas. Tasha went to say something, but sighed, shook her head and shrugged, before joining Minho and his usual quiet aura that she enjoyed. Newt frowned slightly, but shrugged himself, and turned back to Thomas.

"You OK, Tasha?" The Keeper of the Runners raised a single eyebrow at her, Tasha let out a long sigh and knocked their knees together, giving a sad smile. Her voice was clear as she spoke and she hadn't been crying, so it hadn't been the worst night she had had.

"I will be." It took her a moment, but she barked a short laugh, "I just have to sober up. You know how I get." Minho nodded, despite that fact that she was avoiding looking at everyone, but gazing out to the maze with an almost distrusting glare. He simply bumped her shoulder with his and handed her a glass of water.


	7. Panic or Serenity

"Get up, find Ben." Clint, who blocked out the steady light from the ever-blue sky, was the first thing Tasha saw when she woke up, not entirely hung over, but definitely feeling the after effects of drinking a helluva lot of Gally's brew. A headache made itself painfully aware in the base of her skull as she wedged her arms beneath herself in an awkward attempt to propel herself upwards. It, of course, didn't work, and she ended up flat on her back once more feeling as though there was a rubber band wrapped too tight around her skull.

"What?" Tasha mumbled, as she struggled to sit up in her hammock, a thick fog hovering over her mind. Clint took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he was trying to harness some other worldly force to deal with Tasha's sleep-induced idiocy.

"Ben; we haven't been able to find him around the homestead and you're the only Runner left." Clint looked away from her, his gaze turning to the forest as he huffed out a sigh. "No-one's seen him around the Glade, so head into the Deadheads as soon as you can." There was silence apart from the whine of the ropes as Tasha moved herself into a more upright position. At her lack of response, Clint turned back to her, "Tasha…" He sighed.

"But food-" Tasha began, and subsequently avoided his gaze to look for the best way to get out of the hammock with the least movement possible. Clint sighed, giving her a pained look.

"Fine, OK, I'll get Frypan to get you some toast or something…" He shook his head, drawing Tasha's attention, and she finally diverted all her focus to him. He swallowed, sighing, "this isn't your fault I just… He's not the same. I think he was stung yesterday." Clint admitted, his voice low, as to not alert any other nearby Gladers.

"What?" Tasha's head felt clearer than it had ten seconds previously and her eyes narrowed. Clint took a deep breath, realising what he had said, and chose his next words carefully.

"I don't know for certain," He began, "OK, it's just… He's just…" He struggled for a moment, before he resignedly bit out, "Not the same." Tasha clambered out of her hammock, large, oversized shirt hanging off her shoulders as she clapped Clint on the back and nodded. Her mind raced to the maze yesterday, Ben being hurt, saying it was nothing; he barely let her help… It was that, she knew it was, he was going to die and it was _all her fault_. It took her a moment, where she frowned and tried to process her thoughts, before she looked to the doors of the maze, her hand fell from Clint's shoulder.

"Runners?" Her voice betrayed none of her own self doubt and anger at not realising Ben was unwell earlier; after everything, she would still blame herself for all of the flaws of the others. Ben's mood suddenly shifted at the question, to more jovial, almost knowing.

"Gone, Minho didn't want to wake you." He snorted, his own eyes followed her gaze to the stone entryway, before he walked off, satisfied that Tasha would be heading off to find Ben soon enough. Tasha shook her head and searched for her non-Runner clothes, stuff that she normally wasn't allowed to wear; tank tops and loose, drawstring pants, all in brown or cream or grey, whichever she picked up first. The creators never sent up any spare sets of clothing specifically for her, so she shared the smallest of the boy's clothes; usually Newt's. She slung her satchel over her shoulder, filled with only her water bottle and switchblade, thick, leather strap across her chest, instead of her Runner pack, watch on her wrist, glinting in the light.

Despite the rough look of the place, Tasha had realised during her first week that it was actually quite pleasant to walk across the entire Glade barefoot, grass between her toes. Frypan rolled his eyes at her, but handed her a slice of toast, which she took with a smile, feeling uncharacteristically pleasant despite her hangover. Newt gave her a small wave, as did Thomas, when she walked to where they were currently helping out the Track-Hoes for the day, trying to help Thomas decide on a roll within the Glade. Thomas seemed to be fiddling with the vines, unsure of what he was doing, Tasha nodded curtly at him, dropping her satchel onto the ground beside one of the other poles, before Newt wrapped his arms around her, perched his chin on her shoulder and took a bite of toast when she offered it to him. Tasha couldn't say she didn't enjoy the morning off, the freedom it granted her, despite the growing concern of Ben's whereabouts. But here, in Newt's embrace, the warmth of him pressed against her back, his fingers linked over her stomach and eating her toast ( _which, of course, resulted in Thomas getting instructions on his unsuccessful vine-fiddling filtered through a mouthful of food_ ), everything felt _right_. There was another new Greenie, the sun never shone and the maze was still horrifying but it was _familiar_ and it was _right_. She grinned, soaking in the serenity of it all. Then it was _gone_.

"So, Minho give you the day off?" Newt asked, untangling himself, smiling as he went and helped Thomas with his vine-fiddling. Tasha, for the life of her, couldn't figure out what it was Thomas was meant to be doing, but she didn't mind, simply leaning against the pole by her bag with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Med-Jack stuff." She said, and Newt nodded. His gaze became concerned and his eyes gave a cursory sweep over her body.

"Anything worrying?" He asked, offhandedly. Tasha shrugged and he went back to fiddling, having already read her ' _all clear_ ' in the shrug.

"Not me." She amended, before adding, quickly. "Ben." More for Thomas's sake than Newt's.

"Ah, where is the shank?" Newt asked, gaze roaming around the Glade, as if he could spot him just off to the side somewhere. There was no such luck, however, and Tasha leaned her head against the pole small, affectionate smile on her face, focused only on Newt.

"Walked off." She shrugged. Thomas snorted and Tasha rolled her eyes, looking away from Newt. She was hoping she wasn't blushing, but could already feel the tell-tale heat creeping up her cheeks.

"Better go find him, love." Newt gave her a smirk and Tasha sighed, moving away from the pole and brushing past the pair, leaving her bag and headed towards the deadheads. It felt as though her brain was trying to escape through a crack in her skull that was yet to form; it pressed against her temples, but she kept walking, knowing it was her own fault for drinking too much. It was an unfortunate and recurring feeling, every month after a Gathering, because Tasha was addicted to the darkness that the drink gave her, like a sweet reprieve from the life she was currently experiencing. Sometimes she liked to pretend that those moments of darkness brought clarity, that she would remember the entirety of her past life and that this was all a dream she could wake up from. But it never was, and in that forest, by the graves of the dead Gladers, Tasha sighed and moved forward, as she always did, as she always had to.

There was a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye and Tasha stopped dead, before she whipped around. There, through the leafy foliage, Ben, pale skin and bloodshot eyes, spotted her too.

"Where is he?" Spittle flying from his lips, Ben lumbered towards her, slower than he usually was, but dangerously fast with the training of a Runner. Tasha swallowed hard, shaking her head, "I saw him this morning! That shucking Thomas! Where is he?" Ben roared, slowing as he came closer. Tasha's eyes went wide as Ben's fingers twitched in a way eerily reminiscent of someone strangling another person, and Tasha shook her head vigorously. Ben launched himself at her, blind fury in his eyes. "You're just as useless here! Tell me where he is!" He roared as he tackled Tasha. She had barely a moment to respond, but he reached out, trying to clutch at her.

"Ben, stop!" Tasha cried, kicking out and hitting him in the stomach, he doubled over, momentarily stunned, but he got back up, crazed smile on his face. Tasha was backing away faster this time, careful not to trip on roots and shrubs. Her mind was blank apart from one thought: _neutralise Ben_.

"He'll be the death of us." He shook his head, chuckling, "You think he's-" Tasha cut him off as he began moving closer to her once more.

"Ben!" She yelled over the top of him, "Ben, they're going to-" The realisation hit her, eyes wide and fearful, words barely making it past her lips and she tried not to throw up, doubling over, tears in her eyes. "Ben, the maze-" She wheezed.

"I'm not going into the maze! I'm doing the right thing!" He told her, straightening her up from her doubled over position and pushing her up against a tree, her feet dangling above the ground. His abdomen was pressed against her thighs and she could feel the warm blood from his wound - _his griever sting_ \- seeping into her pants leg.

"This is my fault." Tasha whispered, seemingly ignoring the situation at hand. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Ben-" She struggled, trying to push his hands away, and failing. _This is not your fault!_ The rational part of her brain tried to tell her over and over again, but the other, more dominant section was wondering if it was because she could get to him fast enough yesterday, that she left him for too long. Her breath came out in short, sharp gasps and she wiggled her legs, strength quickly leaving her as her headache became progressively worse, her palms sweating and slipping against Ben's already slick skin. She realised she was trembling all over, shaking like a leaf with Ben's hands on her shoulders. Images flashed behind her eyes, the hybrid of flesh and metal that came after her with a hideous noise that haunted her to this day, the darkness of the maze, the fact that there was _no way out_ and she just had to keep running. She watched the maze _move_. She could barely form words, back in the present, her chest aching, her throat closing up, as though she could barely breath. "The maze-" She managed between barely gasped breathes, before Ben's face contorted with fury.

"You are of _no use to me!_ " He yelled, suddenly slamming her against the tree, hard as he might, her head crashing into the trunk and taking off part of the bark behind it, sending leaves above fluttering to the ground. It took him a moment, to let go of her shoulders and watch her body crumple to the ground, to realise what he had done. Backing away slowly from the unconscious form of his teammate, Ben turned to search for Thomas, putting thoughts of Tasha out of his mind.


	8. Actions or Words

"So," and there was an awkward pause as Thomas narrowed his eyes after Tasha disappeared into the forest. She seemed cheerier that morning than he had seen her previously. Newt raised an eyebrow at Thomas, crossed his arms and shifted his weight, favouring his injured leg. Zart, from where he was digging up weeds from the edge of the vine, looked up and sighed as Thomas unsuccessfully, well, no-one was quite sure what he tried to do. Zart walked over, slapping Thomas's hands away from the vine, handing the Greenie a shovel, stabbing the ground in an absent-minded manner.

" _So_ , what?" Newt asked, ignoring the Keeper of the Track Hoes. Thomas shifted nervously and went back to his work, half-heartedly spearing the dirt in front of him.

"What is up with you two?" He asked, the whole sentence spilling out, as if he didn't mean it to. He snapped his mouth shut, refusing to look at anything but the ground. The thought had been plaguing him ever since his first afternoon, Tasha and Newt always side-by-side, how relaxed they always looked around each other, the casual way Newt joked with her where others would be oddly distant. He chanced a look up. Newt surveyed Thomas with an evaluative stare, a low hum of consideration in his throat. He didn't look angry or even displeased, just thoughtful.

"She's the fastest runner we have." He said, his gaze slipping from Thomas to the forest. Thomas frowned at the rather cryptic response, his mind full of questions. "Ran just like you did, her first day here. Straight through that forest," Newt gestured over to the Deadheads where Tasha had disappeared, chuckling to himself, a low, warm sound, "face first into a wall." He's caught in a swirl of memories, the wind rushing by him as he ran, the exasperation he felt at Tasha as she kept trying to run, the implicit trust she bestowed upon him upon their first meeting.

"That doesn't answer my question." Thomas snapped; it was the first time someone had really addressed any of his questions and although he was rather disappointed that the first real answers he received were about this girl, he was thirsty for any information about Runners. he took a deep breath, and continued. "How did she become a runner? I thought people couldn't just become Runners."

"It was a time before Keepers and second-in-commands-" pain flashed across Newt's face, and he rubbed his injured leg subconsciously, "Alby was the only real authority we had and he… he said alright." Thomas processed what Newt had said, before he squinted at the blonde, who was looking off into the woods, eyes glazed over, lost in his memories. Newt shook himself out of it and looked directly back at Thomas. "Look, it's complicated. _We're_ complicated." He sighed, but his voice was fond and there was a small smile on his lips, "But I trust her."

"And she trusts you." Thomas finished, slowly. Newt nodded, once. Zart snorted from where he was crouching in the dirt, smirking up at Newt.

"If that's true, if there's nothing going on there," Zart clicked his tongue, thoughtfully and shrugged, "don't go around telling the others. They all keep away because they think you've got dibs." He raised his eyebrows at Newt who rolled his eyes, the warm tones of his voice quickly melting into his usual skepticism.

"Tasha could kick your ass any day of the week." Newt told him, as Thomas swayed from one foot to the other, leaning his hands against his shovel.

"There's that I guess." Zart shrugged. Newt laughed, grinning, seemingly unperturbed by Zart's statements.

"How long… how long has she been here?" Thomas broke through the surface of his own thoughts to voice his own pressing question. Zart and Newt talked as if-

"Two years." Newt smirked at the Greenie, "Minho, the Keeper of the Runners," he explained "is the only other one who's lasted that long and kept at it." He cleared his throat, his face falling. "Running, that is."

"And she hasn't been stuck in the maze?" Newt's expression darkened and for a moment, Thomas thought that just maybe there was something more to it, but then Newt went back to his own work, scowl on his face. Zart frowned at the development, watching Newt intently, but Thomas sighed at Newt's sudden silence. He went back to looking around the Glade, eyes ghosting up the sides of the walls, poking uselessly at the dirt with his shovel.

"Has anyone tried climbing all the way to the top?" He asked, his attention pulled away from the blonde to the thick ropes of ivy scaling the walls.

"Tried it. The ivy doesn't go all the way to the top... " Newt made a face. "And besides, where are you going to go from there?" He asked, his voice, not incredibly serious, but not light-hearted and jovial as it had been earlier.

Thomas leaned forward, "Well what about the box, next time it comes up you just -" He was cut off halfway through by Newt's answer.

"No, we tried that." Newt didn't take his eyes off where he was threading the vines through the structure, securing it, "The box won't go down with someone in it." Zart shook his head from where he crouched.

Thomas persisted, leaning forward on his shovel, "Well what if we-"

"No, we tried it, alright? Twice." Newt seemed annoyed, leaning against the structure wrapped with vines, his arms crossed over his chest, looking directly at Thomas now, "Trust me, anything you think of, we've already tried." He paused. "The only way out of here is through the maze." There was a weighted silence as Thomas considered this. It took Newt a moment to relax, "Listen, if you want to be helpful, here, take this and dig us up some more fertilizer." Newt threw a wicker basket at him, smirking at Thomas as Zart snorted with laughter. Thomas huffed, annoyed, taking the basket and stomping into the forest, basket in one hand, shovel in the other.

"You mean you've never-" Zart made a crude gesture, thrusting his hips, once Thomas was out of earshot. Newt's brow furrowed and he cocked his head to the side, looking at the Keeper.

"What?" He huffed.

"Tasha." Zart's answer was simple, the smirk on his lips speaking volumes and causing a faint blush to rise on Newt's cheeks at the implications of the gesture.

"No. What made you think I had?" He spluttered, to which Zart chuckled.

"You guys alway act like you're in love." He reasoned, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Newt huffed out a sigh and Zart went back to his gardening.

"So you think we're shucking?" Newt scoffed after a moment. Zart shrugged, head bowed to hide the smile on his face, not missing Newt's lack of denial in regards to actually being in love.

"Would you?" Newt didn't answer and Zart snorted. "If not, I can think of ten guys who would." He told Newt, who bristled at the statement, straightening his back and glaring at the Keeper.

"Don't you go near her, shank." Newt told him calmly, hands curled into white-knuckled fists. Zart's eyebrows show up and Newt huffed out a sigh, "Besides, She doesn't like people." He added, quietly.

"She likes you well enough." Zart rolled his eyes.

"That's different." Newt dismissed the claim with a wave of his hand.

"What about Minho?" Zart's voice was quiet and he watched Newt for any sign of a change, to gauge his reaction. It didn't even phase the second in command, who huffed.

"That's _different._ " Newt insisted.

"What about Gally?" Zart raised his eyebrows as Newt's automatic reaction was to snort out a laugh.

"He's a slinthead to Tasha." He said.

"She _broke his nose_." Zart emphasised. Seeing the tiny brunette slamming her fist into Gally's face, blood gushing from his nose as he stumbled back, curse words spilling from his lips. Tasha shook her hand out, as if trying to rid it of the pain, weight almost tipping her over as she tried to keep off her foot where the beam Gally had been holding slammed into it. It was bandaged, but she wasn't wearing shoes and the Med-Jacks were yelling after her.

"He broke her foot." Newt reasoned. There was silence before Zart shrugged.

"Whatever, I'm just sayin', is all." He went back to his work, resignation in his voice at Newt's denial.

"Yeah, well, slim it." Newt huffed, going back to his work. His fingers worked steadily to thread the vine through the support structure, allowing him to almost zone out completely, if not for a snide remark.

" _You love her_." Zart muttered under his breath. Newt frowned, poised to snap at the Keeper, but a cry for help brought his attention to the forest, which Thomas then burst out of pursued by Ben. The two raced through the field, faster than Newt had ever seen, fear clear on Thomas's face as he ran. They were the only two to crash from the forest before Thomas slammed into the ground, followed by Ben who clawed at his ankles. Newt ran, almost seeming to forget his limp, shovel in hand.

" _I'll kill you_!" Ben's screams brought the entire glade running as he squirmed on top of Thomas, his hands around the Greenie's neck, digging his nails into his flesh. Thomas screamed for help and Newt slammed his shovel into Ben's temple, sending Ben rolling away from Thomas, blood dripping from his temple, limbs flailing and teeth gnashing.

"Hold him down!" Newt ordered, dropping his shovel and straddling Ben, keeping his weight firmly on top of the deranged Runner. Gally, Frypan and Zart ran to hold Ben's limbs as Newt looked down upon him. "What are you doing?" Newt hissed, the others trying to wrestle Ben into stasis.

"Calm down, Ben." Gally growled, trying to press Ben's arm into the dirt.

"What the hell happened?" Cried Frypan, turning to face the Greenie, to which Thomas shouted.

"He just attacked me!" The greenie stumbled to his feet, brushing himself off and looking down on Ben with distrust in his eyes. He doubled over, hands on his knees as he watched the scene before him.

"You OK?" Chuck asked at Thomas' elbow, looking with concern between Ben and Thomas. Thomas nodded, panting roughly, to which Chuck nodded uncertainly, unconvinced.

"Calm down, Ben." Newt's voice was quieter, hands resting on his own knees as Ben's struggling ceased and he bared his teeth to the others, spitting nonsensical words of anger at them. Alby made his way through the crowd to the scene, stepping through as the others parted before him, shoving at each other to get a better look. Upon seeing his leader, fear became clear in Ben's eyes as he chanted the word _'no'_ over and over again, barely more than a frightened whisper, redoubling his efforts to escape as the boys held him down.

"Alright, lift his shirt." Alby commanded. Newt, with shaking fingers but no hesitation, lifted Ben's shirt, a blood stain clear over his stomach making it evident that he had not changed since the previous day. Blue veins spread from the wound on his squirming stomach, which was bruised dark red and purple, telltale mark of a griever sting. Ben's breathing was erratic, interspersed with whimpered pleas for them not to do it.

"He's been stung." Gally addressed the group, questions filling his mind as he looked from Thomas to Ably. "In the middle of the day?" No-one spoke, but the mass confusion the group felt was clear. Alby stood with a sigh from where he was crouched beside Ben.

" _Please, just let me help._ " Ben whimpered out, his eyes shifting from Newt to Alby, pleading.

"Put him in the pit." There was a resignation in Alby's voice that made Thomas feel as though he had just been punched in the gut. A moment of silence followed when nobody moved and Alby raised his voice, commanding those around him, a new intensity in his words. "Come on everybody, put him in the pit!" At this, Ben began struggling again, his limbs thrashing wildly in the grip of his fellow gladers.

" _No! Don't do it! Don't do this to me!"_ Ben grunted through gritted teeth.

"Med-Jacks!" Newt ordered, stepping off of Ben's body and directing the two Med-Jacks to help the boys lifting Ben. He waved the other Gladers off, to which they went reluctantly, except for Thomas, who seemed lost and uncertain.

"Calm down, Ben!" Gally huffed, struggling to keep a hold of Ben's flailing arm, Ben became increasingly difficult to control as he thrashed around. Newt clapped a hand on Gally's shoulder and fell into step beside him, Thomas only half a step behind. Newt shook his head at the Greenie who was obviously looking for answers. It wasn't safe to have him around Ben, not with Ben so agitated and erratic. Thomas's face fell, but he went back to hovering about the vines, picking up Newt's fallen shovel and digging into the dirt.

" _Listen to me, please! Please stop!_ " Ben's cries echoed around the Glade. Newt walked with Med-Jacks, Gally and Zart, watching as Ben was shoved in the pit and locked up. His screams to be released bounced around in Newt's head, but Newt didn't feel even slightly inclined to help him, he felt anxious. He had ever since Ben had burst from the forest, for obvious reason of course, but there was something else, something _missing_. It took a moment for him to pinpoint the off feeling he was having. _Tasha_.

"Ben." Newt turned suddenly, crouching down to look into the cage. Ben's arms were reaching out and he was moaning to be released from his prison. "Where's Tasha?" He asked, slowly and calmly, though the Runner did not seem to listen, only reached out with his hands curled into needy shapes, trying to snag Newt's clothes.

" _Let me go! I'm helping! No! No! NO!_ " Ben wailed and Newt gritted his teeth. Something had happened to Tasha and it was Ben's fault. He knew it. Newt huffed out a sigh and stood, making his way across the field to the deadheads, past Thomas who looked up, expectantly, and Zart, who just seemed rather put out.

"Newt, what happened-" Thomas followed quickly behind Newt, into the forest. Newt scowled.

"Not now, Greenie." He snapped, limping through the underbrush, his gaze darting around as he looked for some sign of Tasha. Thomas followed, hot on his heels like a curious puppy.

"Newt what are you-" Thomas began, but was cut off abruptly.

"Slim it." Newt turned and glared at Thomas, who closed his mouth, pressing down whatever questions had bubbled to his lips. Newt felt a twinge of guilt, it wasn't the Greenie's fault, it was _Ben's_.

"This is about Tasha." The Greenie's voice was quiet with recognition but his eyes were wide as his thoughts snapped to the conversation earlier today. Newt didn't seem like the type to be easily agitated and Thomas realised that his connection with Tasha was much closer than he would admit.

"Greenie, I'm warning you-" Newt growled, but cut off, his eyes catching sight of Tasha's body slumped on the ground. The two got closer, as if walking on eggshells, Thomas felt bile rise in his throat at the sight. Pale as a ghost with clear bruises on her shoulders, painting the white skin purple and blue, faint tear tracks on her cheeks, the back of her hair matted with blood. "Shuck." Hissed Newt, his stomach turning. "Tommy, get a Med-Jack." Newt kneeled on the ground, scooping up Tasha into his arms. Thomas was transfixed at sight of the frail form of Tasha, lifted so easily, it was if she could break at any moment. "Now!" Newt cried, snapping Thomas out of his thoughts and sent him speeding back to the Glade. "Tasha, please." Newt whispered, holding the girl close as he limped through the forest.

"Newt, Thomas told me-" Clint's voice was frantic, meeting Newt at the edge of the forest. "Tasha." He breathed, before anger filling his voice. "Shuck. Shuck!" He spat and turned over his shoulder, calling out to Jeff, who was walking away from Ben in the pit. "Jeff! Get some warm water and stitching gear!" The figure in the distance nodded and headed swiftly back to the Med-Jack hut. "This is my fault." Clint murmured.

"What?" Newt asked, dismayed and almost stopping completely, but he continued along, Clint by his side, Thomas somewhere near Zart, probably informing him of what happened.

"I sent her in there. I asked her to find Ben." The Med-Jack swallowed thickly, pushing open the door to the hut and setting Tasha down on the bed, laying her on her side and facing the wall, to give access to what Newt suspected was a cut or scrape on the back of her head. He turned on Clint. Jeff simply ignored the two of them, busying himself with supplies.

"Did you know he was stung?" Jeff asked, his voice calm as he fetched a bowl of warm water and a set of cloths. He wasn't the one who had seen to Ben that morning or the night before as one of the slicers had almost lost a finger and was busy helping him.

"I… had an inkling." Clint admitted, avoiding Newt's gaze and rubbing the back of his neck, as if it was some mild slip up compared to a Glader being attacked. Newt stood, rising to his full height as Thomas burst into the room. Clint let out a small sigh of relief that went unnoticed by Newt, who had directed his attention to Thomas in the doorframe. He was panting, looking from Newt to Clint to Tasha and Jeff.

"Is she OK?" Thomas asked, "What happened?" Newt clenched his jaw, eyes flashing dangerously. Clint shrunk down, wilting like a flower beside Jeff who was cleaning Tasha's head wound. 

"A concussion at worst." Jeff remarked, mildly, ignoring Newt and Clint beside him. Newt turned, tension draining a moment at the news. He seemed to relax, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

"Thanks." He said, smiling at the Med-Jack, who waved a hand, acknowledging that he'd heard Newt, but remaining focused on Tasha. Clint sagged down beside Jeff now that Newt's attention had turned from him, accepting the cloth and cleaning the wound as Jeff sterilized his needle.

"Ben attacked Tash." Newt told Thomas, whose eyes went wide.

"What? What happened to him! They were friends!" Cried Thomas, his thoughts drifting to his first encounter with Tasha, her running out beside Ben, seemingly content with his companionship in a way she only was with other Runners - and Newt. Newt sighed deeply, striding across the small room and wrapping his hand around Thomas's wrist, leading him from the room as the Med-Jacks worked.

"Look, Tommy," Newt's voice was quiet once they had left the Med-Jack hut, his fingers still curled around the Greenie's wrist, "I've gotta talk to Alby, but he'll tell you everything you need to know once I'm done." Newt promised him quietly. Thomas huffed out a sigh at being put off again, but nodded in understanding, and followed Newt to Alby, leaving Tasha to be attended to by the Med-Jacks.


	9. Silence or Symphonies

Tasha woke to the sound of Ben screaming. She shot up, falling from the unfamiliar bed, landing on her stomach on the worn floor of the room. She glanced around briefly, identifying the Med-Jack hut with an eye that has seen the inside of that place more times than she'd like to admit. She's snapped out of her analysing by the grind and thump of the maze doors and it all hit her like a truck, her head aching and her mind swirling with thoughts. One pressed to the forefront as Ben's screams echoed through the Glade once more. Running like she always did, she skittered out of the door, feeling her shoulders ache from Ben's grip and the tree's bruising, and she bolted across the field to where the rest of the Gladers were gathered.

She had only seen it once before, seen them and their sharp sticks turned against another Glader who had broken the rules, he was an older boy, she had only been there about a month, but she could see the fear and anger in the boy's eyes; she hadn't known him well enough to care. She had been with them at the time, by Newt's side and still wary of the others, ignorant to the boy's pleas, pushing him out with cold, unwavering determination. She hadn't known the horrors that awaited him then, what it was like in the maze after dark. She knew now though, and she couldn't wish that upon anyone else.

Her running was haphazard, all flailing arms and legs and terrified expression, eyes fixed upon the doors looming up ahead. The maze was almost closed and she could see the fear on Ben's face, only fifty feet from where the boys were gathered. Chuck had turned away from the others and his eyes went wide, seeing Tasha so desperate to reach Ben; he reached out, calling her name, snagging her wrist and making her faceplant into the ground.

"No!" She cried, scrambling to her feet, dirt smudged across her nose, the gap between the doors closing faster than before, if that was possible. The boys had withdrawn the poles they used to push Ben into the maze and the group watched as Ben scrambled to get through the doors, to avoid being squished by them, backing into the maze. She watches in mute horror as his eyes find hers and there's nothing but regret. It's strikingly similar to the night only a year ago and she hopes he doesn't say ' _I'm sorry_.' She doesn't know if she could hold herself together. It takes all she can not to let the words escape her lips, part of her brain reminding herself that it's not her fault, the other screaming with guilt. Tasha finds she can't breath all of a sudden, lungs refusing to cooperate. She's shaking, not crying, just standing and trembling and _not able to breathe_. The others are leaving, _I should leave with them too_. The voice in her head is mild but she can't move, she can't think, she can't _breathe._ Everything seems to be fading, but someone's pulling her into a hug, wrapping their arms around her tightly. She buries her head into their chest and struggles to let air into her lungs, but she tries her goddamn hardest.

"Come on, Tash, breathe." It's Gally's voice in her ear, it sounds tired and heavy, but its him. Tasha focuses on breathing, on the slow laborious in and out of air. He rubs circles into her back and Tasha curled her arms around him. She clutched at his shirt, pressing her forehead against his chest, eyes closed. His breathing is steady and she can hear the beating of his heart. She thinks that it's nice, that if the world could stop for a moment, she'd like to simply fall asleep in Gally's arms because this is the first _real_ break she's gotten since that Greenie arrived, she doesn't have to look for anyone, she doesn't have to run, she doesn't have to explain herself because in that moment, Gally understood.

"Sorry." She managed to mumble. Her fingers uncurled from the burgundy fabric of his shirt and she managed to take a deep breath, breaking away from him. His expression was somewhat angry, but not with her, perhaps simply discontent with the world they lived in. Gally was like that a lot.

"He was my friend." He told her, his voice quiet and serious, "I get it." He sighed, looking around at where the boys had begun to disperse, before clapping her on the shoulder. Tasha swallowed hard, looking at her hands that were trembling, though the rest of her was still. "Don't get any funny ideas. I still hate you." In that one moment, she and Gally had seen eye to eye, but it was gone now, blown away in the wind, and he was still the shuck-face who broke her foot and teased the Greenies.

"Slinthead." She huffed, but he ruffled her hair with a sad smile on his face. His face fell as he looked back at the maze, before turning and joining the other boys as they went to get dinner. Tasha she joined Thomas who stood still, gaze flicking between the Maze doors and watching as the boys headed back to the hut.

"I thought you hated him." Thomas's voice was quiet and he turned to her. Tasha shrugged, wrapped her arms around herself and looked at the ground.

"I do." She said, simply. Thomas frowned and Tasha can feel the beginning of a headache in the back of her skull, or perhaps that's her stitches starting to ache.

Thomas's gaze roamed over the Gladers and he opened his mouth, questions on the tip of his tongue, "But -"

"Death is death." That shuts Thomas up fast. He rocked back and forth on his heels, lips pressed together, eyes watching the small brunette Runner who was looking at her feet. Tasha sighed, not noticing his gaze, and turned to follow the rest of the Gladers.

"What's it like?" He asked, suddenly, calling out to her. Tasha frowned, stopping mid stride. She lowered her foot to the ground and swivelled on her heel to face the Greenie. "Being a runner." He clarified, quickly. Tasha clucked her tongue, thoughtfully and her sad gaze turned upon the doors of the maze. Her hands didn't shake, but she didn't look comfortable. Thomas sort of wished Newt was there, to help calm Tasha down if nothing else. She looked as though she wanted to bolt, tipping her weight onto the tips of her toes and bouncing there, almost overbalancing, as if poised to get away.

" _Ran just like you did, her first day here. Straight through that forest, face first into a wall."_ Newt's words float into Thomas's head and he wondered if that's just how Tasha was, that maybe she was such a good Runner because she couldn't physically be anything else.

"It's the terror of a night that will never end." She began slowly, Thomas grimaced, but Tasha was lost in thought, evaluating her words as she chose them, "It's the reason I can hardly sleep. It's the exhilaration of dying -" Tasha blanched and quickly corrected herself, "almost dying - a thousand times over." She grinned, her eyes focusing now, her words carefully chosen as she delivered them to the Greenie. "If this place is heaven, then the Maze is hell and I am a fallen angel, because there is nowhere I'd rather be, and now I'm living on borrowed time." She hummed thoughtfully, Thomas staring wide-eyed at her, the half-delirious tone she spoke with, the darkness in her words. Tasha's smile softened, "But there's a 'maybe' that... " She stumbled over her words, her mind flashing to Newt's words, which she parroted, "it's that 'maybe' that has to keep you going." She looked at him, lost once more to the sea of thoughts her mind had become, tearing her away from the pain of losing Ben and injecting her fear, her love and her adoration for the maze into her speech. "Maybe there's a way out, maybe it's worth it, it has to be." She took a deep, shaky breath, her smile falling as she turned back to the Maze, to where Ben had been banished. She could still hear his screams echo in her head. "Being a runner is good. Running is easy. Mapping is easy." There was no enthusiasm behind her words, not energy, it was if the brief burst of excitement had drained her, leaving her tired and worn, looking older than she really should "Living life inside the Glade, day after day after day?" She poked him in the chest, her smile sad, "That's what's difficult."

"If it's so dangerous, with the grievers and being stuck overnight-" He splayed and balled his hands up, more confused now, but somehow understanding the faraway look in Tasha's eyes. He knew now why she always seemed poised to run, like a bird only moments away from flight, it was how she survived in the Glade. He still wanted to know, however, if the maze was so terrifying then why -

Tasha froze up, before her gaze turned icy cold and he was reminded of the cold glare she gave him the previous afternoon. Something wasn't right, there was more to her story and to Newt's than what they were telling him. "What do you want me to tell you, Greenie," Thomas looked visibly hurt as she spat the nickname, crossing her arms over her chest, "that I'm a thrill seeker? An adrenaline junkie? I won't deny it, if that's what you're looking for. I'm a runner. I look for a way out. I like how my life works, OK?" She turned on her heel and stalked away.

"Why were you so freaked out about Ben, then?" Thomas called out after her, "He attacked you, could've killed you!" Tasha stopped and Thomas could see her take a deep breath. She turned, not her whole body, just her head, enough to bite out her sentences.

"Ben was my friend, and it's my fault he's dead. I should have-" she sucked in a gasp of air, squeezing her eyes shut and willing Ben's pained expression out of her mind, her intensity dropping and she became sad before Thomas's eyes, "-should have known he was stung, gotten him seen to. Now it's on my head, the death of my friend." She turned from melancholy to angry and she turned and snapped at the Greenie, "Incase you hadn't noticed. I don't make friends well." Tasha cleared her throat, realising the irony of her statement. "No-one should have to spend the night in the Maze. Ever."

"What do you know about -" Thomas's eyes went wide as Tasha pressed her lips into a thin line, realising what she had said.

It occurs to him, as he watches her storm away, that its the most he's ever heard her speak. He felt as if it wasn't a regular occurrence, for Tasha to practically burst into a monologue, but he didn't mind. Thomas thinks over Tasha's words and found himself musing upon the old saying,

' _If a shark stops swimming, it dies_ ' and it's eerily applicable to the small, sad girl who runs every day. Those walls give her meaning, help her find the escape and find herself; _maybe,_ he thinks, _maybe we're not so different._

 _Or maybe she'd lost herself in those walls a long time ago._


	10. Night or Day

Tasha had spent the better part of the day swinging idly in her hammock, rocking back and forth and wondering if she could spend her entire life there. She considered going to find Newt, but she was certain he would be mad at her for leaving the Med-Jack hut in the first place and she didn't know if she could deal with him at that moment. The Deadheads was an option she considered, but ultimately decided against it, knowing the inevitable sadness it would lead her into. For the time being, she was content being numb and full of discomfort. She moped about when supper was announced, delaying the inevitable meeting of herself and any other Glader. She wasn't sure why she didn't want to see any of them, she just knew that she felt off. She are her stew in silence and trying to steady her breathing, mentally berating herself for her semi-breakdown in front of the Greenie.

"Tasha!" Someone snapped her name and she was brought out of her trance to look up and around, confused. "What are you doing?" It's Newt and his voice was hard and cold as he loomed over her, hands calm by his sides. Tasha frowned up at him, feeling the ' _I told you so_ ' playing in the back of her head, doing nothing to help her bitter mood. "You're hurt." There was concern in his eyes as he cupped her face, his fingers gently pulling through the wispy tips of her chestnut locks. "There's blood in your hair." He told her, softly and Tasha's face went from confused to surprised and she gingerly touched the back of her head with her spoon-free hand. The point of contact stung and her fingers came away red and slick with blood. She swallowed thickly and looked up at him, he looked back as though she was a naughty child. "You shouldn't have left the Med-Jack hut." He hissed quietly. Tasha turned away, breaking both his gaze and his hold on her face, to look at the Maze doors.

"Ben is my friend-" Her voice was quiet and resolute, but Newt's turned harsh as he snapped at her.

"Ben _was_ your friend." He emphasised. "Then he attacked you, attacked Tommy and now he's-" Newt blanched and Tasha felt tears welling in her eyes, her stomach curling into tight knots of guilt.

"What? Say it Newt." She rasped as he straightened out, having bent down beside her. He crossed his arms across his chest and sighed deeply.

"Now he's as good as dead." Newt snarled at her, his eyes full of remorse, contrasting his tone.

Tasha had expected it, but she couldn't help the tear that slipped down her cheek at finally hearing it. "Slinthead." She spat at him, shoving her chair back and looking up at him. The chair clattered to the ground and her soup sat forgotten on the table. Her anger hardly dissipated when faced with Newt standing several inches taller than her. She balled up her fists and poked him in the chest with her blood-smeared pointer-finger, leaving a crimson fingerprint on his t-shirt. "You don't know what its like out there." She hissed at him, glaring. Newt's eyes widened and Tasha saw him glance around quickly.

"And neither do you." His voice was softer now, calmer, with a different quality; a warning. Tasha closed her mouth, fire in her eyes, words on her tongue that she refused to speak. "Go back to the Med-Jacks, get some sleep. Minho wants you running tomorrow." He sounded exhausted and looked displeased, as if he would prefer Tasha to be resting for the next few days rather than less than one. Tasha's expression softened and she ran her thumb across his cheekbone, smoothing out the bags beneath his eye for the moment. He sighed again and Tasha can see how tired he is, how much he just needs to rest, how much he worries and its his fear for her that makes him angry.

"Sleep." She told him, softly. Newt's smile was barely a strained quirk of his lips, but it made Tasha's heart sink.

"Can't promise anything." He muttered and someone called from the other side of the Glade, which pulled his attention from her. Gally and Winston were waiting by the Deadheads, each holding a torch. Gally had something else, which Tasha recognised to be the stone pick used for carving names into the wall. A shudder ran through her body and she felt as if she had been plunged into icy water. _Ben was her friend_.

"You?" She asked, and Newt nodded, petting her on the head, careful to avoid her injury.

"Go. Get fixed up." He nodded to the Med-Jack hut and called out for the others to wait for him as he limped over to them. The three of them began their walk through the Deadheads to the wall of names and Tasha gulped, forcing herself to take a deep breath. _There's no way out_. Tasha huffed out a tired sigh and made her way slowly to Jeff who was taking his bowl back to the kitchen, and nudged his shoulder.

"Hey Tash, you OK?" He asked, and the two of them walked back to the hut side-by-side in the light of the numerous torches scattered about. Tasha pressed her fingers to her wound, wincing, and Jeff nodded at the sight of blood glistening in the firelight. He pushed through the door without a word and nodded to the bed she had occupied earlier in the day, still rumpled from her quick get away, and got another bowl of warm water and set medical supplies. Tasha stretched herself onto the mattress on her stomach, lying with her head tilted towards the wall to give Jeff access to the back of her head. She hissed with pain when he began to cut and subsequently re-thread the stitches of her wound, but in the Glade, they had to carefully ration their painkillers for more important injuries like broken bones. She wouldn't have accepted them anyway, she doesn't ever having taken pain killers. Despite this, she was able to push the pain out of her head and gently doze off as Jeff worked away at fixing her head. She flinched when she felt her shoulder being prodded roughly, but Jeff was snickering.

"Nice nap, sleeping beauty?" He asked as Tasha scrubbed her hand over her face and yawned.

"Had better." She mumbled, pushing herself off of the bed and staggering to her feet. Jeff caught her arm and directed her towards the door, chattering away as he did so.

"Well, you're all good. Just lie on your side or something. I don't want you becoming a regular, you hear me?" He grinned at her and Tasha nodded, small smile on her face as she exited. He closed the door behind her with a soft thump that all the doors made, and she shuffled from the Med-Jack hut to the homestead, brain still half asleep and just looking for her own hammock to lie down in. It had been a big day. She walked behind the bunks that housed the newest Gladers and caught the tail end of a conversation between Thomas and Chuck. She hesitated, feeling as if she should apologise to Thomas for snapping at him earlier. She paused outside of their section, ready to walk up to him and simply admit she shouldn't have been so rude, but she couldn't. She knew what she knew. He asked too many questions anyway.

"Do you think he might make it?" Thomas's voice was hopeful and Tasha sighed quietly. She had been too rude, the kid was trying to survive and after only a day had a veteran of the Maze warn him against it.

"Ben?" Asked Chuck, Tasha's insides squirming at the name, with guilt and sadness. "No. No-one survives a night in the maze." Her fingers reflexively clenched into fists before she relaxed them and plucked at the hem of her shirt. There was a deep sigh from the kid and he began to shuffle onto his side within his hammock. "You just have to forget about him." Tasha nodded, taking the advice for herself despite it's intended target being Thomas not her. She picked up her pace and made her way into one of the shared Runner bunking areas. The rest of the Runners were all curled up in their bunks and Tasha would have bet anything that none of them were sleeping. No-one usually got sleep after they lost someone to the maze, everyone pretended. She smirked bitterly to herself, _like they didn't pretend anyway._ The maze was Hell. She pulled off her shirt and hesitated before she pulled on a loose cotton t-shirt and got into her hammock, and wriggled out of her pants.

It took her hours of staring at the wall, laying on her side and listening to the slow, controlled breathing of her teammates before she finally dropped off. Her sleep was fitful, usual terrified dreams of sounds and people she couldn't place, threaded through with bloody fingerprints, bruises and terrified wide eyes peering through a large, stone door. There's fire and the sound of metal tapping against stone and the unmistakable sound of laughter from somewhere beyond the Maze doors that melts into a blood-curdling, horrified scream that she thinks she may have replicated herself because one of the Runners is shaking her awake.

"Tasha! Tash, it's a nightmare!" He's saying, but she can't hear him, she just screams until she simply stops silent, sitting bolt upright in her hammock. She looks around and the rest of them are peering at her through sleep-fogged vision, but they all seem to understand her at that moment. The moon doesn't shine but the stars twinkle and she can see them through cracks in the roof. She swallowed hard, trying to still the erratic beating of her heart, and wipe her sweaty palms on her shirt before curling into a tighter ball and shooting for dreamless sleep.

She doesn't get it, of course, but it's not nearly as painful as her first dream, it's more of a memory, hidden in the dark, forgotten corners of her mind, filled with more people and places and things she can't remember. In her dreamy haze, she thinks that someone is talking to her, but it can't be because her name is not 'Ross'. But she hears it again and again: ' _Don't worry, Ross_.' They tell her, and somehow she doesn't. Doesn't worry, doesn't cry, doesn't flinch in the bright light of the operating room. _The operating room?_ She's not sure how she got there, but she doesn't worry. There's pain, but somehow she feels disconnected from it, as if she's full of medication that's only slightly ineffective; she probably is, she mused. The lights get brighter until they're blinding and she feels so much pain it's as if her thighs are on fire. Lights of the operating room turn to the sun and she's blinking away the tears in her eyes. She doesn't wake up screaming this time, or maybe she did, but only for a little bit, because her throat's sore but not too sore so maybe it's ok. It's a fifty-fifty chance though, as she wakes up screaming most nights at this point and the others have started getting sick of her, amid their own nightmares. _Maybe I should look into getting my own room_ , she thought quietly, lying in her hammock and swinging idly, having almost enough motivation to get ready for the day. She just needed a few minutes more.


	11. Rain or Shine

"You go left, Alby and I'll go right." Minho and Alby were leaning over the map, analysing, speculating. It had taken a moment, comparing with her own sketch of the map, but Tasha had pointed out where Ben had gotten stung and they were trying to work out the quickest route to that place, and had aided in the planning of the best route to that spot. However, it didn't answer Tasha's most pressing question.

"Why me?" She was certainly not the best choice to go running, especially if it was only the three of them running that day. Her near-collapse the day before, coupled with her intense attachment to her fellow Runners should put her way down the list. Minho frowned at her, as if he was trying to figure out what was happening in Tasha's head.

"You've gone with me when looking for lost Runners before." Minho told her. Tasha nodded, suddenly understanding, it was not her limited but intense loyalty that drew her to these projects, but her ability to push all feeling from her mind and focus on her task at hand. Her eyes darted to their leader, who had watched the exchange with interest.

"Why Alby?" She flinched internally at her own blunt approach, but it didn't seem to phase Minho or Alby, who drew his attention away from the girl to the equipment against the wall.

"Everything's changing." Alby's voice was dark, and he didn't give any further explanation, but he handed Tasha a pack over the dimly lit map, along with a notepad and water bottle. Tasha took them, nodding and pulling the pack over her head. "Are you OK with this?" Alby asked. Tasha looked at him, steeling herself and nodding quickly. "Good. Let's go." He grabbed a pack for himself and Minho, before heading out of the map room and over to the doors.

What Tasha wasn't expecting was Newt, standing by the Maze doors, face scrunched up as he looked into the Maze, as if willing for Ben, gasping, sweating and terrified, to come around a corner, covered in blood and bruises. However he didn't, and Tasha just felt rather cold. The three boys gathered together, chattering softly about the events of the previous night, before Newt nodded to them and they headed into the maze. His attention turned to Tasha once the other two had rounded the corner.

"You alright, Tash?" He asked, arms crossed over his chest. Tasha nodded once and Newt huffed out a laugh at her automatic response. Tasha let out a small smile, letting herself relax slightly, _no, she was not alright, but when was she ever?_ He rubbed her shoulder in a comforting gesture for a moment, before looking out at the maze. "Good luck." He told her, letting his hand drop, to which she nodded once more and took off into the maze. All emotions were cleared from her head, her only goal being to map the maze as she always did. Alby and Minho were the ones looking to trace Ben's path, not her. She felt safe in that knowledge. Less safe in the knowledge that she might come across the mangled remains of her former runner, but she could easily sidestep that in her current frame of mind.

The maze was endless, and just the same as yesterday, just the same as every other day. _There was no way out_.

So she ran.

She liked running on her own, there was a sense of isolation that nowhere else could replicate, a deafening silence that she could feel in her bones. It was like she had said to Thomas, running was easy, but it came with a price. There was always the lingering doubt in the back of her mind, the constant overwhelming fear of repetition, but the overpowering need to run, to search, to hope, that overrode everything else.

She had explained it once to Chuck when he had asked, when he first got into the maze and didn't avoid her like most of the others.

" _I don't run because Alby's right or because I think there's a way out.." She told him as they walked side by side, her voice was quiet and she was carefully looking over her map for any errors she may have made. Chuck, who had been bringing supplies to the map room, looked up in surprise and Tasha's gaze rose to meet his. "I run because I believe WCKD is wrong and I need to stop them." Chuck seemed confused, but didn't ask any more questions Tasha went back to her map._

Her legs ached as she came to a stop for her lunch break, fingers curling around her knife to cut down a vine to mark her spot. She slumped down with a groan, back against the wall, stretching her legs out in front of her. She pulled off her pack and searched for her sandwich, which she began devouring hungrily. She savoured the taste of jam on her tongue before she checked over her notes, chewing on the last bite and idly pulling out a water bottle to take a long sip.

A moment of silence, like the breath before a sneeze, a thick tension hovering in the air, was broken by a tremendous thump from above her head and Tasha jumped to her feet, notebook skittering across to the other wall. Tasha's gaze shot to the sky and she felt her blood run cold. Grey clouds loomed overhead, hanging heavy in the sky, rolling quickly and buzzing with energy. There was a loud crack and a bolt of lightning shot from above, making Tasha's heart thunder and snap her from her frozen state.

"This isn't meant to happen!" She hissed, eyes wide, gathering her things and stuffing them into her pack haphazardly, cutting her run short for the day. It never rained in the Glade, there was nothing but blue, cloudless sky and a sun that never shone. "Shit!" She spat as she awkwardly tried to put her pack back on and run back the way she came.

One thought pervaded her mind as she ran, the thought that she had to get out of this maze, that she had to get back to the Glade. _This wasn't normal, this wasn't meant to happen!_ Instead of the swift jog that Runners could keep up for hours on end, Tasha, fuelled by adrenaline and fear, bolted through the entire maze, the sounds of thunder echoing painfully in her ears. A dreadful thunderclap almost half an hour into her run brought with it a wave of freezing cold rain falling from the sky. Tasha felt herself stumble and almost slip, but she didn't slip, couldn't fall, not now. She ran faster, if possible, slamming into walls as she turned, rain slick paths causing her to skid and overshoot her mark. She pushed her fear down, feeling the exhaustion in her legs and chest, the aching of her ribs, the wet slap of her shoes against the concrete and the pounding of the rain echoing through the maze.

She let out a gasp, seeing the opening to the Glade ahead, the wide expanse of damp, green grass and the rain-soaked homestead in the distance. Her eyes went wide and she put on a burst of speed, all her fear and excitement bubbling over the top and she lurched forward once she hit the grass. It took her a split second to realised she had overbalanced in the rain, and went tumbling forwards, crashing into mud where there was normally hard Earth, landing with a splat and feeling soft mud beneath her body. Her limbs were splayed out around her and her nose ached from being squished into the ground, but she seemed alright physically.

It took her a moment, to struggle to a sitting position. From their ineffective shelter in the homestead, she saw the other Gladers looking on with worried expressions. There's another thunderclap from the sky, and Tasha jumped to her feet, running the last few hundred yards covered in mud to the safety of shelter. Newt quickly caught her hand and dragged her over to where he and Thomas were camped, looking out at the maze doors.

"What happened in there?" Asked Newt, quietly. Tasha frowned, looking up at the thatched ceiling. Newt's concern deepened. "Well what about Alby and Minho, are they-?"

"They're not back?" Tasha's eyes darted back to the maze, as did her footsteps, but Newt yanked on her arm and brought her back. He looked as if he was emotionally compromised, between laughter and concern. Tasha was simply confused and worried.

"They'll come back, alright? You sure nothing strange happened?" Newt asked, deciding on concern. Tasha nodded once, her running had been pretty standard until it had started pouring rain.

"Nothing." She told him. Newt huffed out a sigh, turning to the maze. Tasha felt like there was more to be said, but this time, just like almost all other times, words did not seem to find her.

"Ok… Go get cleaned up, you look like hell." Newt gave a tense smirk, but Tasha realised why he wanted to laugh earlier and it is by now that Tasha can feel the cold curl of mud seeping into her shoes and she looked down at herself. She's splattered, head to toe, with thick mud, sliding down her, hair slicked down, mud caked to her cheeks and rain sticking her clothes to her skin. Tasha gave Newt a weak smile and trudged to her bunk, collecting her casual clothing and heading for the shower.

She stepped into the shower fully clothed, aside from her pack, because she was already coated with mud, it would probably be good for them. It took her a while to finally be able to peel the clothing from her skin, letting it fall in a pile by her feet, mud swirling into the drain beside it.

She spent more time than was probably reasonable, sitting in the shower block with her arms wrapped around her legs, a distorted smile on her face while her tears were washed away by the water. _It was_ fine, _no reason to freak out!_ She tells herself this over and over again, her grip getting tighter until it leaves little bruises and nail mark along her skin. She washed with shaky hands and took a few deep breathes before towelling off and pulling on her clean, cotton clothes. It's then that she realised that the rain had stopped falling and there was sunlight shining through the thatched roof.


	12. Tension or Peace

Tasha felt as tense as the next Glader, waiting with her hands crossed tightly over her chest, weight swaying from one foot to the other as she waited for the return of Minho and Alby. Every time she made a move towards the gates, Newt had authorised any of the other Gladers to step on her feet or hold her back. She would have grumbled about, had the closest person to her not been Gally, who seemed rather eager to step on her toes. She feel the mud beneath her bare feet as she rocked back and forth on her heels, eyes train on the maze.

"Come on guys, can't we send someone after them?" Thomas's words spark a flare of hope in Tasha's heart, despite knowing that they're only minutes away from the doors closing. Her gaze turns to the Greenie, standing beside Newt. In that single moment she feels a sense of camaraderie with him.

"It's against the rules." Gally crouched beside her, bursts Thomas's bubble swiftly, his eyes locked on the maze, expression dark, "either they make it back or they don't." Tasha lurched forward, but Gally's arm swung out and elbowed her in the knees, making her stumble back. She glared at him, but he didn't look at her, so she went back to waiting, staring into the maze herself. Her heart rate climbed higher with every passing moment and she contemplated throwing caution to the wind and running in herself at that moment.

"Can't risk losing anyone else." Newt muttered. Every fibre of Tasha's being was screaming that she wasn't a risk, that she wasn't meant to survive so what would it matter if she went into the maze and helped the others? Her opinion on the matter was irrlevant, Newt wouldn't let her go. She couldn't run into the maze, she couldn't get away from the group, so she did what she always did when she was out of options; she shut down. She stopped her swaying and centred her balance, the telltale gust of wind from inside the maze that signified it's closing barely bothered her. She couldn't even think, not in that moment where she heard the closing of the doors and felt the trembling of the Earth beneath her feet. Everyone's shuffling, moving to keep from utter stillness and silence despite the deafening doors, but Tasha is still as stone and doesn't even register what she sees in the maze before her.

"There!" Thomas pointed to it first, at the end of the stone-lined corridor, two figures making their way towards the group. The tension rises and Tasha can almost taste it on her tongue, the way everyone waits with baited breath, leaning in as if to see better.

"Wait, no, something's wrong." Newt's voice is full of concern and everyone can see the problem. Minho is dragging Alby on his shoulder, their leader unconscious hunched over the Runner. Tasha can almost feel the crackling of static in the air, waiting and watching as Minho struggled along.

"Come on, Minho! You can do it!" Chuck shouted, and it's then that the tension snapped, the rest of the boys shouting encouragement, joining into a chorus of enthusiasm and desperation, despite the fact that Alby was too heavy. They were fighting a losing battle, the doors were closing fast and Tasha's voice refused to cooperated as she stood, staring blankly ahead of herself. The voices around her faded to a soft hum in her mind and she saw Alby slip off of Minho's shoulders. It finally clicked, like the flick of a switch in the back of her mind, that this was one of her best friends, that Minho was about to be stuck in the maze and she couldn't help him.

"They're not going to make it." Newt muttered, broken realisation in his words. Tasha's eyes grew wide and she lunged forwards, startling herself at her speed of movement.

" _Minho_!" Her shout was loud and clear, full of desperation, but it seemed that not only had some of the others anticipated her sudden bolt, but several of them grabbed the back of her shirt and dragged her away from the front of the gathering. She can hear Minho's scream and she thrashed her limbs about ( _she thinks she may have actually scratched one, but she's not sure_ ), but the gates are still shutting and he's dragging Alby by the foot. By the time she ejected from the back of the group, she spins fiercely in time to see the Greenie push his way past Newt and the doors, right into the maze as they close.

They stood in suspended animation, feeling the aftershocks of Thomas's actions rippling through their little community. It's Chuck that moves first, the youngest and the core of innocence still left in their group, he's confused and sad and he hasn't been around long enough to see someone get left in the Maze, except for Ben and that was _yesterday_.

"They're…" He doesn't know what to say, what to think… He's only little compared to them and he hasn't had to face the loss that comes with the maze, or make attachments as strong as they had. "They're going to come back." His voice was scared, as if he could hardly believe what was happening. "Minho's fast and they- they'll come back!" Chuck clutched at Newt's wrist, shaking the second-in-command, who suddenly looked much younger than he was, all scared and pale.

"Uh… Chuck." Newt swallowed hard, snapping out of his daze, looking down at the kid, trying not to wince. He lowered his voice, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and nudging the kid to sit down beside the wall. Newt glanced up, before he began, unsure of just how to begin the incoming conversation, stunned expression on his face and the glimmer of a tear in his eye. Tasha felt as if she should join them, to help console Newt or Chuck or _someone_ _somehow_ , but she remembered somewhere in her head was a set frayed wires where her emotional responses should be formulated. She knew that she could do two things well; run and screw up.

She took off, choosing the former of the two options ( _and probably the latter as well,_ she thought, bleakly) sprinting through the Glade, not caring about where she went, simply needing to run. She was going to lose Minho, one of her best friends, her running partner, her Keeper. It felt as if she had been punched in the gut, the indescribable loss she suddenly felt. Minho was one of her closest allies, and she would never see him again. The wind whistling past her managed to dry most of the tears from her cheeks, but her eyes were red and she thought she might collapse when she finds herself slumped against the wall of Frypan's kitchen, chest heaving with heavy breaths. She's not sure how she's managed not to collapse yet, _perhaps I'm still in shock_ she considered.

"Tasha, you mind taking food to some of them by the gate?" He asked. Surprised by the sudden voice, Tasha leapt into the air, before nodding, dipping her head to hide her tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes. Frypan gave her a small smile and rubbed her shoulder sympathetically. He handed her a crate stacked with sandwiches and headed back in to prepare dinner for the ones who had gathered by the tables.

There was only a few scattered by the gate, Newt, Chuck, Zart and a few of the Runners. Tasha gravitated towards Newt who, when she got closer to him, close enough to see his own red-rimmed eyes, had been crying. _Shuck_. Well at least that made two of them. Chuck was curled up beside Newt, sobbing softly, Newt's arm around him. Tasha went to approach them, but Newt shook his head at her, broken expression on his face. Tasha nodded once and set about handing out sandwiches and trying not to break into a fresh wave of tears. _Minho and Alby were gone_. It hit hard as she began unwrapping her own sandwich, sitting with the doors at her back, a few feet from Chuck and Newt. The younger boy had fallen asleep, head pillowed in Newt's lap as Newt ran his fingers through Chuck's hair, looking as though he too was almost asleep.

"Help me take him to his hammock, yeah?" Newt asked, voice heavy and sad. Tasha had begun trembling badly, sandwich forgotten beside her as she wrung her hands. She looked up, startled by the sudden interaction.

"What?" She asked, as if through swimming through the haze of her semi-reality. Newt gestured to Chuck in his lap and Tasha nodded. Between the two of them, they carried Chuck smoothly - well, as smoothly as a skinny, limping boy and a trembling, crying girl could manage - back to his hammock, and tucked him in. Some of the others had headed to bed, it was getting late by that stage, and Newt and Tasha were the only two left sitting against the wall. Tasha was crying again, silently, her hair hiding her tears as she wrapped her arms around her knees.

"Newt… I-" she opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to form some sort of words, some sort of anything to break the dreadful silence, broken only by the occasional screeching of grievers. She looked at him and he could see the tear tracks on her cheek. His face crumpled and he tugged her to him, pulling her from her little cocoon, into his lap. She could feel him shake with silent sobs, arms wrapped tightly around her, forehead resting on her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around his neck, carding her fingers through his hair as gently as she could manage. "It's OK." Her voice shook with every tiny word and her breathing was unsteady. She couldn't cry, not now when Newt needed her to be strong.

"But it's _Minho_ and _Alby_ …" Newt whimpered, "I can't…" He managed, before swallowing thickly. His chest heaving with laborious breaths.

"You can, I promise you can, and no matter what happens, I'm here." Tasha whispered, drawing away to look him in the eyes. The tips of her fingers ghosted along the back of his neck, up and down in a rhythmic motion.

"But Tash…" He mumbled, his expression feeble. She had seen that expression before, less than a day before he had jumped off of the wall. She hadn't know what to say then, she barely knew what to say now. He was hurting so much more than he let on and Tasha knew that feeling, knew that sense of hopelessness and desperation all too well.

"Please, Newt, I can't lose you." She whispered, her gaze imploring. She knew it was selfish, but it's the truth, she's known its the truth ever since that first day in the maze. If she lost him, she would lose the only thing keeping her in the Glade.

"But you're right, there's no way out of this place." He told her, tightening his grip on her, pulling her closer, their foreheads pressed together. He didn't look at her, his gaze was trained down.

"I don't care, as long as you're here." Tasha told him, quietly. Newt was at a loss, his gaze finally meeting hers, so fixated on the girl in front of him that he couldn't process half of his own thoughts. All he knew was the he wanted this moment to end. So he kissed her. Tasha almost laughed from pure shock, but she kissed him back, threading her fingers through his hair and letting him pull her closer.

"I love you so bloody much, Tasha." He whispered to her, planting a kiss on her neck and hugging her tightly. Tasha laughed, crying once more, but she wasn't certain if they were happy or sad tears - either way, she kissed Newt again, smile on her lips.

"I love you too." She murmured, brushing the tears away from her eyes. The sweetness so directly contrasted the bitterness of the setting that it almost made her teeth hurt, but Newt was smiling and that's all she would ever need to be happy.

"Does this mean we're…" He trailed off and Tasha gave him a lopsided grin.

"I'd say so." She told him. He kissed her again, so warm and happy and tender that she couldn't help but sigh contentedly. They sat together for the rest of the night, beside one another, with Tasha's head on Newt's shoulder, fingers interlocked. They didn't sleep, but they didn't really talk, because it's not what they did. It was a few hours until dawn when Tasha felt Newt's heavy sigh and she turned to look at him. His face fell, so bleak after his bright smile.

"How did you survive in the Maze?" He asked, quietly. Tasha sighed deeply, the two of them falling back into reality.

"I don't… I don't know. I really don't." She looked up at the door and shook her head, "But, if anyone can make it, it's Minho." She said, seriously, for the first time hoping and believing that the others could make it back. If she could, so could they.

"Do you really believe that?" Newt asked, voice containing only the barest notes of hope. Tasha's expression was grim but determined.

"I have to."


	13. Punishment or Praise

Tasha woke, sunlight beaming down upon her, with Newt holding her hand and Chuck sitting beside her. He was startled when he saw her moving, but simply shrugged at her questioning glance and went back to absentmindedly fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Tasha groaned and stretched as much as she could, mindful not to jostle her sleeping boyfriend.

"Doors are gonna open soon." Chuck mumbled quietly. Tasha nodded, squinting in the morning light, wondering when exactly she had woken up, but not entirely sure, her watch absent from her wrist. "They are gonna come back." Chuck drew her from her sleep-fogged haze, his voice devoid of hope which broke Tasha's heart. There was a soft sigh beside Tasha and she turned to see Newt blinking in the light, his grip tightening on her hand.

"Chuck…" He wasn't certain of how to continue, too many words unspoken, hanging in the air. There was the rumble of stone doors, jolting them from the suspended animation that they found themselves in. Chuck jumped with a start, waiting expectantly by the entrance to the maze, ignoring Newt's pitying look.

"Guys, get up." Chuck said, a renewed enthusiasm in his words as the doors slowly grinded open. The hopeful expression on his face was enough to make Tasha pull herself and Newt to his feet, if only to humour the kid beside them. There was a small gathering of hopefuls by the doors who had made their way over to the stone entrance, Zart and Frypan among them, more for Chuck's sake than anyone else's as he had never lost anyone like this, and they knew what it was like. Perhaps it was the fact that they _had_ to be hopeful, that with Minho being the best of the best, he _had_ to survive. But the doors opened as they did every morning, and no-one was at the other end.

"I told you, Chuck, they're not coming back." Newt told him quietly, his expression trained on the kid to make sure he understood, carefully neutral despite the sadness in his voice. Chuck seemed confused, but most of the other gladers turned and began heading back to the homestead, brief moment of hope gone, now coming back to their post-death haze of confusion and being disheartened. Chuck looked around, almost as if he was trying to will them back to him, to believe. Tasha simply turned, still holding Newt's hand, and began to follow him. Zart was the last to turn, almost as if he was stuck, watching the other end of the maze.

"Hey…" Zart's voice, full of disbelief, pulled the others from their stupor. "No way!" A grin wide enough to split his face plastered from ear to ear. Chuck's face lit up and the gathered Gladers turned. There's limping from the Maze, dirty, bloody and looking as though they were about to drop dead, Minho, Alby and Thomas.

"Yeah!" Chuck's voice rang throughout the Glade as he moved to allow them to pass, continuing his whooping as they partially collapsed, resting for what must have been the first time since the doors closed. Chuck pumping his fist into the air and Tasha had to give the kid credit, he certainly never gave up hope.

"Hey, what's up?" Newt dropped Tasha's hand racing over to their now unconcious leader as they lay Alby on the ground in front of them. Jeff quickly bent to inspect him, his face distraught at the state of their leader. There was blood on Alby's temple and he looked like he was - Tasha's breathing almost stopped completely. _Alby looked like he had been stung,_ covered in sweat, faint muscle spasms making him twitch where he lay. The Med-Jack seemed at a loss for words, looking to Clint for help. Their silent conversation was looked over by most, apart from Tasha, who was having trouble breathing, mind invaded by shadowy figures chasing her down darkened, stone corridors.

"Saw a griever?" Chuck asked, looking from Minho to Thomas, adoration clear in his voice.

"Yeah I saw one." Thomas muttered, squatting beside Minho, looking at the kid. It looked as if he could hardly believe it, that he didn't realised exactly what happened or how he had escaped, just they he was alive and he wasn't sure how. Tasha knew that feeling all too well and she focused on breathing. That was the look of someone who had been trapped in the Maze.

"He didn't just see it." Minho huffed, trying his best to appear to be calm, "He killed it." Tasha could hear the intake of breath from the surrounding crowd, and felt herself drawn along with it. She could see past Minho's vaguely flustered, post-run demeanour, he knew what it was like too. He didn't want to go back. 

_There's no way out_ , the voice in her head whispered quietly. She clenched her jaw and looked to the Med-Jacks, silently asking if they needed help. Jeff sighed wearily, but shook his head.

"Alright, we need a buggin' gathering." Newt's frown deepened as he spoke. Tasha could tell he was overjoyed at his friends returning, but there was a dark edge to his voice at the news. "Med-Jacks, take Alby and get him to a bed." He directed, Clint and Jeff hauling Alby off to the Med-Jack hut with a grunt. "Someone call the Keepers." He looked around at the gathered Gladers, waiting for a volunteer from the still shocked audience. Chuck took off before anyone could ask him, yelling about a gathering with a grin on his face, far too bright for the situation at hand. "Are you two OK?" He asked, kneeling beside the Keeper and the Greenie. With those four words, the others gathered suddenly had a very clear understanding that they had been dismissed, and began to mill over to the gathering building. Minho nodded breathlessly, as did Thomas. They seemed tired as all hell, in need of a good night's sleep and some bandaids at the very least, but allowed Tasha to give them a cursory inspection. She may not be a Med-Jack, but she had been around them enough to know how to do a basic medical check. At a glance, they were fine, but Newt promised to let them see the Med-Jacks later for a full check after the gathering.

Newt finally smiled. "It's bloody good to have you back." He looked between the boys, clapping Thomas on the shoulder. Tasha hung back, her hands fidgeting idly as Newt greeted the boys. She knew now that she wasn't the only one capable of surviving, that maybe if the strongest could survive, it wasn't a fluke and maybe _she_ was meant to survive. It's Minho who locked gazes with her first, eyebrows raised as he caught her zoning out. Tasha swallowed hard, finally focusing on him. _Minho was alive._

She shot forward, hugging him tightly, her forehead pressed to his chest. "I told you that someone else could do it." Minho's grin was evident in his words and Tasha laughed, a genuine, honest to goodness laugh. In that one moment, Tasha and Minho understood each other perfectly, the hell that was waiting for your best friend in the Maze, wondering if they would ever see each other again.

"I'm glad you're not dead." She told him, more emotion in her words than she had ever spoken to him and he chuckled, mirroring her emotional standings.

"Me too." He told her, before they separated. Beside them, Thomas and Newt had been having a quiet conversation, giving the two Runners some privacy, before Tasha interrupted loudly.

"And you, dumb shank." She turned on the Greenie, making the him confused and slightly on edge, but she was smiling and she pulled him into a hug. He was surprised, but her actions said more than her words ever could. "Thanks." She mumbled, and Thomas hugged her back, bemusedly.

"Come on you saps, we'd better head over." Humour was clear in Newt's voice as he spoke, and Tasha sheepishly untangled herself from Thomas and sidled up beside Newt, allowing the other two to lead the way to the Gathering. She laced her fingers with his and grinned when he kissed her temple, watching the Keeper and the Greenie ahead of them.

Chuck had managed to bring most, if not all of the Gladers to the gathering, sitting around in the spectator seats while chosen few occupied the middle of the building. Tasha took a seat up the back as Newt stayed close to the centre, by Thomas, Minho and Gally, as he was second in command. Gally stood with his arms crossed in the middle of the room, looking around at the others, he nodded slightly as every quieted down and he began.

"Things are changing, there's no denying that." He said, addressing the whole room. He may not be likable, but he had a certain presence that meant he could command the room's attention. "First Ben gets stung in broad daylight," he paused, to which Tasha internally winced, "then Alby." His voice is heavy with the connotations of his words, informing those who did not already know the condition of their leader, the dire situation they now found themselves in. "And now our Greenie here," his voice took a more authoritative feel, turning to Thomas, "has taken it upon himself to enter the maze; which is a clear violation of our rules here." His hand gestures punctuated each of his words, as he looked around, as if searching for confirmation or support. The faces looking back at him were mostly blank, hearing the news for the first time, in shock.

"Yeah, well he saved Alby's life." Frypan piped up from where he stood beside Newt. Tasha nodded her head once, despite the fact no-one was looking at her. Thomas had helped save Alby's life, that meant more than some rule.

"Did he?" Gally asked, looking from Frypan to Newt. Tasha, from where she was sitting, had a clear view of Newt's _you've got to be kidding me_ look and she felt herself mirroring it. Gally's expression hardened as he swung around to face Thomas, "For three years we've coexisted with these things. Now you've killed one of them." Thomas swallowed watching the way Gally glared at him, and waited with nervous anticipation. "Who knows what that could mean for us." He reasoned, turning from Thomas to the rest of the Gladers.

"Well what do you suggest?" Newt asked, skeptically from where he leaned against one of the poles supporting the Gathering room.

"He has to be punished." Gally said, easily, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. Shouts broke out around them and Tasha felt herself rise out of her seat, anger bubbling in her stomach. Thomas had helped save Alby's life, he had survived a night in the maze and earned her loyalty. She would fight against his punishment with everything she had.

"Minho, you were there with him, what do you think?" Newt's voice was quiet and speculative, he was concerned about the Greenie, she could tell. She just wanted to be beside him, supporting him, instead, she cast her gaze to the Keeper of the Runners and felt her heart speed up in anticipation of Minho's words.

"I think…" he began, "In the whole time we've been here, no'one's ever-" he chose his words carefully, his gaze flicking to Tasha, before settling back on Gally, "killed a Griever." There was a silence that followed that spoke volumes, only punctuated by the buzzing of the insects. The moment weighed on them all and Tasha could see in the back of her mind, the Griever speeding after her on it's mechanical legs, getting closer to her until she wound through a twisting set of corners and hid beneath one of the ivy covered walls. If Thomas had killed it, she vowed then and there to protect him from further harm. He had helped save Minho, and had helped save Alby. He had _survived_. "When I turned tail and ran," Minho broke the silence and Tasha looked up, almost startled, "this dumb shank," his gaze flicked to Thomas, his expression hard and thoughtful, "stayed behind to help Alby." He pulled his gaze from Thomas and looked around at the gathered Gladers. "I don't know if he's brave or stupid-" The chuckles from the surrounding Gladers made Tasha clench her teeth, but she remained focused on Minho. "-but we need more of it." He finished. Tasha grinned, all sharp teeth and flashing eyes because _yes, this is why Minho was her friend._ Minho was like her, he could recognise value in a person based on their instincts and personality, not their ability to stick to the rules. "I say we make him a runner." Minho finished, gaze locked with Tasha. She nodded once, a brief confirmation of support, before the room broke out into confusion, some, like Chuck, blindly supporting the Greenie, while others voiced their thoughts against the opinion. Newt pushed himself off of his support pole, arms crossed and expression a mix of amused and hungry, as if he couldn't wait to see where this was going. Yes, he liked how this was progressing, even if he wouldn't admit it.

"If you wanna through the newbie a parade, go ahead." Gally spat, anger building within him and silencing the crowd. Tasha felt herself become more agitated as he moved closer to Newt, "But one thing I know about the maze is that you do not-" His angry rant was cut short by the low sound of a foghorn, or, something equivalent. The Greenie looked confused, but a wave of icy fear washed through Tasha, her gaze, along with the rest of the Gladers', turning to the door, to the direction of the noise. Tasha bounced to her feet as soon as Newt was poised to run, limping through the doors with the rest of the Glade hot on his heels. She was one of the first few out of the door, running towards the box. It wasn't meant to come up. _This wasn't meant to happen._ The fear from the day before had come back in full force, and she couldn't shake it. Something was _different_. Something was _changing_.

Newt and Gally were the first to the box, closely followed by Tasha, the two of them pulling open the box with a grunt. Newt jumped into the box, peering down at the new Greenie, his confusion mirroring that of his fellow Gladers.

"What do you see, Newt?" Asked on of them. Tasha waited, heart racing. _Everything was changing and she just wanted it to stop!_

Newt's words stilled all of her thoughts and made Tasha want to cry. "It's a girl." He told them, disbelief plain as day on his face. Frypan and some others stepped back, uncertain of what the girl wanted. She was unconscious and terrifyingly beautiful, with long, dark hair and pale skin. "I think she's dead." His voice is quiet, as if frightened to wake the corpse before him, looking up at the surrounding Gladers. No-one usually turned up unconscious. Something was so very different about this girl that it made the whole group uneasy.

"What's in her hand?" Gally asked, spotting the thing crumpled in the girl's fist. Newt knelt carefully beside her and edged the scrap of paper from her cool grasp and unfolded it. He read it, before his gaze turned skywards, towards the others.

"She's the last one… ever." He read, his face creased into a look of confusion and skepticism. "What the hell does that mean?" The girl suddenly sat bolt upright, gasping as if she had just surfaced above a murky lake after being held under for far too long, and locked eyes with the other Greenie.

She looked scared and confused, understandably, gasping out a single word, before her breathing eased and she fell back, unconscious once more.

"Thomas."


	14. Nik or Tasha

Bouncing on her heels, Tasha followed behind Minho and Newt, beside Thomas, their eyes all trained on the girl curled up before them. They stopped abruptly in the middle of the Med-Jack hut, watching and waiting to see if she changed as she slept soundly on the bed that Clint and Jeff had set out for her. Alby's pain breaths were the only other thing to breach the silence that enveloped them.

"Jeff, what's going on?" Newt asked. "What's the matter with her, why won't she wake up?" He the worry and concern in his voice was almost tangible as he fired off the questions to the Med-Jack. Jeff huffed out a sigh, laced with an exhaustion that reverberated in his bones.

"Hey man, I got my job the same way you did." He muttered, looking from Newt to the girl on the bed. She was sleeping peacefully, head pillowed on her arms, chest rising and falling with each breath. Newt looked from Thomas to the new girl, eyes narrowed analytically.

"Do you recognise her?" He asked, trying his hardest to make sense of the situation he was presented with. It had to be difficult for him, with Alby's incapacitation and the other Gladers losing help.

"No." Thomas mumbled. The Greenie had triggered something within the Glade, Tasha had known it ever since Ben's banishment. Thomas was _curious_ in an almost reckless manner, and he cared about there people so much that it made Tasha's head hurt. It wasn't that Tasha didn't care about people, it's just that her loyalty was selective and intense. If Thomas was caring to the point of recklessness for just about every Glader, Tasha was caring to the point of self destruction for the people she considered friends. And that now included Thomas.

"Really, because she seemed to recognise you." There was anger in Newt's voice that hadn't been there before and Tasha blinked back into reality from where she had been hovering in her own little world. She knew all too well the anger that came from fear and the pressure of the people in the Glade.

"What about the note?" Thomas asked, his attention turning back to the girl. Tasha's mind flashed briefly to the sight of the note crumpled in Newt's hand, and it's dire implications. _She's the last one EVER._ Something was happening. Things were changing.

"We'll worry about the note later." Newt mused, considering the unconscious figure with concern. Tasha frowned, her eyebrows knitting together as she cast Newt a worried look. Maybe it was getting to him, everything that had happened in the past few days, because a long term plan is what they needed now, even if long term just meant a few months, they could ration the food.

"Well I think you should worry about it now." The intensity in Thomas's voice grew, with Tasha's silent support. Newt's attention turned back to him.

"We've got enough to deal with at the moment." He snapped, angrily, and Tasha swallowed thickly. _There's no way out,_ she told the voice in her head to shut up, but it melted from her own to Newt's, and she thought she might be going crazy as reality seemed to be going blurry at the edges.

"He's right, Newt." Jeff mumbled, not entirely breaking Tasha from her stupor, but allowing her to barely latch onto the strands of conversation. "The box isn't coming back up, how long do you think we can last?"

 _Cannibalism_. No-one says it, but they're all thinking it. Would they really be able to -

"No-one said that." Newt huffed, arms crossed over his chest, banishing the thought from his mind with a quick shake. "Let's not jump to any conclusions, just…" He turned back to the girl on the bed, his expression worn and tired, "We'll just wait until she wakes up and see what she knows." He paused, "Somebody's got to have some answers around here."

"OK." Thomas mumbled from beside Tasha, before turning on his heel and leaving the scene before them abruptly. Tasha jumped with a start and Newt reflexively put his hand on her shoulder. Tasha took a deep breath, focusing on the scene in front of her, trying to place all the pieces together.

"Where are you going?" Newt asked as Tasha sunk further into his grip, eyes flitting open as she watched the Greenie leave.

"Back into the maze." Thomas called over his shoulder, voice more neutral than Tasha could have expected from the situation. She went to follow him, Newt's grip relaxing, but it was who Minho grabbed her sleeve and shook his head.

"I'll call you if I need you." He told her. She swallowed hard, but nodded once in understanding, watching as the Keeper ran after him. Newt's hand slid down her arm until they stood, hand-in-hand. Jeff looked from Newt to Tasha, eyebrows raised, but he simply shrugged and joined Clint in tending to Alby.

"You want to go back, after everything that's happened?" Newt asked her, almost as if he felt betrayed. Tasha's mind took a moment to consider her words, before she began, slowly.

"There's no way out, but maybe this kid is the key." She paused, as if trying to think of something to add, but nothing came out and they stood in silence. Newt dropped her hand, frown on his face.

"And what about the bloody girl?" He asked, voice harsh. Tasha flinched. "She's got something to do with this, something to do with him, you think we should just leave her?" Tasha froze up, her voice dying in her throat as she turned to look at the Greenie.

"She's beautiful." Tasha mumbled, suddenly at a loss for words. The girl was _stunning_ , dark hair against white skin and perfectly full figure, making Tasha's heart ache with a sort of yearning. Newt's face softened and he sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"Tasha-" He sighed, and Tasha huffed, her wistful demeanour dropping was something making it's way to the forefront of her mind, a memory that she tried in the same instance to push down and pull to the surface.

"No." Tasha bit out, half of her thoughts occupied by the girl, half by her new internal struggle. "She's so beautiful, and so _clearly_ a girl." There. She had put her finger on what had been bothering her about this Greenie, _about herself_.

"What do you mean?" Newt asked, looking from Tasha to the girl, confusion clearly painted on his features, his earlier anger having diffused at the distraction.

Tasha groaned, "Newt, that's what a girl's meant to look like, beautiful." Newt looked as if there was an angry retort on his tongue, about how Tasha was gorgeous anyway, but Tasha shook her head, "I mean…" She struggled to articulate her thoughts, before she sighed and raised her hands to her own flat chest, "Boobs, Newt. I think girls are meant to have boobs." With a gasp, there was a flash of light behind her eyes and a memory clouded her vision, having lost the battle of her subconscious brain.

" _I'm sorry, Nico." A boy's voice spoke to her, his voice sad and apologetic. He seemed distorted by a pane of glass in front of her. Maybe he was wearing white, she wasn't quite sure. Water was slowly rising from the ground and Tasha sucked in a breath of air, looking down as it pooled around her feet._

" _My name's not Nico." She spat at the boy, flinching at every use of the name. The boy seemed familiar, like she knew him… Like he knew her. Water sloshed about her hips as she tried to move about the space, to see him. There was no way out of the tube and it became harder to think with the water rising and the air cooling rapidly._

" _Oh, of course." He caught his mistake quickly, his voice becoming more distant though he hadn't moved an inch. "Tasha, my mistake." He amended softly, water now splashing her elbows. He was her friend, or an acquaintance of some sort, they weren't particularly close… He was somehow bad, or he did something bad… Everything was going hazy, some sort of pain in her head was making her memories fade. It was now or never._

" _Tasha!" She screamed as the water reached her neck. "Tasha, Thomas you make sure I remember my name! My name is Tasha!" Water began to pour into her mouth and her screams became unintelligible. But she knew. Her name was Tasha._

"Tash, you're a girl, no matter what." Newt's voice cut through her memory like a knife and he was holding her close. She was trembling like a leaf, when did that happen?

"Well what if I wasn't always?" She hissed, confusion in her words. She had always known she was a girl, always felt confident in that knowledge, but seeing the Greenie in front of her, so pale and beautiful and clearly feminine; the pains in Tasha's chest were not a coincidence..

"Are you ok?" Newt asked, rocking them back and forth. His voice sounded strained and Tasha suddenly felt stupid at her breakdown with the weight of the Glade resting on Newt's shoulders.

"Thomas." She sighed finally, "He knows something. He… something bad happened." She admitted, the words falling from her lips with no thought to consequences. Newt pulled back, expression harsh.

"What, now? In the maze?" He asked. Tasha's eyes went wide and she scrambled to explain herself.

"No, Newt… I remembered something." She managed, trying to grip at the slippery edges of her memory. It didn't leave her head, but the details were rather fuzzy.

"What?" He asked, and Tasha closed her eyes, trying to pull at anything useful from the memory.

"He was on the other side. He knows something." She huffed, finally bringing the only useful bit of information to light. Newt's expression hardened and Tasha sighed deeply, replaying the memory over in her head. _Nico_. So she is Nico- _was_ Nico. She shuddered at the name, it felt sharp running through her mind, causing her pain simply from the name itself.

"Are you OK?" Newt asked, and Tasha's face melted into a brief smile, she nodded.

"It was just a memory, I'm fine." She told him, the name _Nico_ running through her head and making her feel as though she was about to throw up. Nik was the wrong name. She was Tasha and Tasha was who she always wanted to be.

"Ok, good." He sighed, believing her. He pulled her back in for another hug, pressing a kiss into her hair.

"Tasha." Minho's head poked into the hut and the Gladers looked towards him. His gaze flicked from Tasha to Newt, but he simply directed his focus to Tasha. "Follow me. We're going back in." He told her. She nodded as Minho disappeared once more, presumably to wait outside.

"Newt, until the girl wakes up, focus on keeping people calm." Tasha told him quietly. Newt sighed wearily, nodding. "We don't want a panic if the note's a false alarm." Newt huffed out a bitter laugh, before looking down at Tasha, his expression softening.

"Take care, OK love?" Newt asked, small, half-smile on his lips. Tasha nodded and he pecked her on the lips, a quick, chaste kiss that left Tasha smiling, her heart beating faster than it was just a few moments ago. "Stay safe." He told her.

"You too." She managed.


	15. Metal or Flesh

With Minho and Thomas leading the pack, the newly appointed runners made their way through the twisting corridors of the Maze. Tasha was a close third, the sight of the grey stone familiar, the path being one she had run a thousand times over. However, seeing as though she didn't know the _exact_ location of the Griever, she thought it best to follow quietly behind the two boys who did.

"Come on!" Minho called, picking up his pace ahead of them. Thomas's footsteps remained constant and the distance between himself and Tasha didn't change, until Tasha sped up. She ran past, joining Minho as the others lagged behind, and Thomas seemed almost surprised that she had overtaken him. As long as she was with someone who knew the way, she didn't mind who. They ran in silence, making their way through the well worn paths of the Maze, vines covering every inch of the walls and floors, save for the faint sight of grey concrete and black lettering. _W.C.K.D._ It took time, navigating through to some mystery destination that was deep within the Maze, but Tasha didn't complain. She just kept running.

The group skidded to a stop as the Maze veered off to one side, and they stood, peering down the side path, the six of them lined up diligently waiting for their designated leader and the Greenie. Tasha could see the point of interest; a crack in the wall just ahead, the spindly legs of grievers sticking out at what had to be painful angles, almost like it had been… _squished_. Her eyes widened as Minho began making his way towards it, and followed him with quick footsteps and an even quicker heartbeat.

It was the mix of entrails and mechanics that made Tasha's stomach turn, the smell of something acidic and the delicate tang of metal. She could see in her mind's eye, the slimey, gooey creature chasing her with the clicking of it's many legs, it's slimy trail stretching out behind it with that same vaguely acidic smell clogging up her senses. The night spent running and jumping, hiding as best she could… It was nice to see it so still. She felt no sympathy for this creature, or it's demise, and couldn't help the grin that spread over her face, despite the nauseating smell and the fluids on the ground.

"That's disgusting." Zart muttered, speaking the words the whole group was thinking, eyeing the mess with distaste from his spot beside Winston.

"There's something in there." Thomas was the first it seemed, to get over the horrifying nature of the scene and edged closer. 

"You mean besides a Griever pancake?" Frypan muttered skeptically, squinting at the ugly sight before them. Tasha frowned, disregarding the cook's snide comment and following Thomas's line of sight until she spotted a blinking red light in the chasam. She daren't edge forward, for all the stillness of the Griever, she was still wary of it. Minho made his way forward, slowly, approaching the dead creature, with more courage than Tasha seemed to have, or perhaps, just a high amount of faith in Thomas.

"Woah, woah, woah! What are you doing?" Concern was evident Zart's words as he stuttered forward, not daring to approach the Griever, but wanting to reach out and pull the Keeper back. Tasha almost laughed at the mere thought; _Zart! Feeling_ concerned _!_ Her amusement, however, turned to concern of her own as Minho gave Zart a poignant look and reached into the dark watched the scene before her with morbid curiosity, the squelching sounds echoing through the silence. Minho was elbow deep in the crevice, his expression a mix of confusion, before there was a flurry of whirs and clicks and the movement of the Griever's legs. Minho yanked his hands away as if he had been burned; Tasha shoved Thomas and the other non-Runners behind herself. Barely a moment passed and it was still again, and the group let out a collective sigh of relief when it groaned to a halt.

"I thought you said it was dead!" Frypan exclaimed, pushing one of Tasha's arms down from where she had flung them in the action. The rest of the gathered Gladers shuffled about behind Tasha and Minho, trying to get a better look.

"What, is it reflex?" Asked Zart, his voice wary, gaze flickering from Tasha to Minho to Thomas. Tasha had to take a moment to quiet her racing heart as she slowly dropped her defensive stance.

"You hope." Winston supplied, doubtfully, eyeing the Griever with mistrust. Thomas was the first one to break from the stupor, to move swiftly past Tasha and back towards the dead Griever, crossing the width of the corridor in a few steps.

"OK, come on," he tapped Minho on the shoulder, striding forward and grasping one of the thin, metal legs, "lets try and pull it out." Tasha lurched forward without thinking, grasping the leg beside Thomas. He shot her a grateful smile as he pulled roughly, exposing more of the it. "Let's all get in on it," he said, readying himself as the others all, as if automatically, gathered, finding their own grip along the shaft of the Griever's leg. "Ready?" He asked. There was no disagreements, so he proceeded. "On three; One, two, three!" He cried, the rest of them tugging at the leg with all their force. They struggled and grunted against the resistance; the sound of flesh tearing pierced the silence of the maze. With an almighty rip the leg was pulled free, along with the Gladers holding onto it, sending them all tumbling to the ground.

Tasha felt the moment her back hit the hard, stone wall behind herself, followed by all of the air being forced from her lungs, leaving her struggling for air. However, she managed to scramble to her feet beside Thomas as he helped Frypan up. Minho was the one who approached the detached limb, with the same reckless curiosity that had led him back here in the first place. In between the mess of mechanics and guts, the red blinking light kept it's steady pace. It was with a wet squelch that he pulled a metal tube from the piece of viscous flesh, letting the excess fall to the ground with a splat, to which Tasha and the other Gladers grimaced. The sight made Tasha's meagre breakfast flip in her stomach, a sentiment shared through the resulting groans of disgust. Hands covered in Griever slime, Minho clasped the silver cylinder tightly, analysing it.

"What the hell is that?" Thomas breathed, edging closer to the Runner, his eyes fixed on the forgien object in Minho's grip. Minho turned the device over in his hands, for all the slim obscuring it, the red light bleeping quietly and steadily in his grasp.

"Interesting…" Minho muttered, spotting something on there that none of the others could see. Tasha would ask what it was, but at the moment, it wasn't her place. She wasn't a Keeper, she was just a Runner. It was above her station to worry about it.

"Yeah well, whatever it is," Frypan huffed, "can we take it back to the Glade?" He paused for a moment, looking around, his fear of the maze finally eroding through his curiosity about the dead Griever, "Because I don't want to meet this guy's friends." He admitted, looking to the other Gladers. Tasha could feel herself wanting to stay in the Maze, to find out more, to examine the Griever's corpse, but Minho's voice was clear.

"He's right. It's getting late." He headed towards the huddled group, patting Thomas on the back, "Come on." He mumbled, taking off at a run. Tasha sprung to the balls of her feet, but waited until the last of them had began running before she took off after them, tailing them. Her speed at most was a light jog due to the speed of the others, but she would be damned if she didn't make sure everyone made it back alive.


	16. Runner or Glader

The sky was still a clear, bright blue as they made their way to the Glade, their little party of six runners being tailed by Tasha, who was the last one to make it back. She had barely broken a sweat, running at a pace convenient for those who weren't _actually_ runners. The mystery device in Minho's hands had not stopped it's constant beeping for that entire duration, which she had used to sync the rhythm of her footsteps and her breathing. None of them questioned Minho as he kept pace, heading into the Gathering building. Tasha and Thomas were close behind him once they had entered the Glade, Tasha speeding up to catch up with the Keeper while the other were slowing down, their fear of the maze slowly draining as exhaustion at such exertions overtook them. Thomas seemed agitated, taking the device from Minho once they had entered the Gathering hut, but he waited good-naturedly for the others to arrive, along with Gally, who still seemed awfully suspicious of Thomas, before beginning.

"Hey, we found this." He handed the device over to Newt, who turned it over in his hands, inspecting every inch. "It was inside a Griever." He added. Newt wrinkled his nose at the information, but did little more to show his discomfort as his attention was drawn to a small yellow sticker near the base of the cylinder.

"These are the same letters we get on our supplies." _W.C.K.D._ The letters, as if burned into the back of Tasha's skull, swam in her vision; long days spent running through the maze, the word painted thickly onto each and every wall. _World Catastrophe: Killzone Department_. There was something menacing about it, perhaps it was simply the words ' _Catastrophe_ ' and _'Killzone_ ' which sounded foreboding and… well, _wicked_.

"Whoever put us here obviously made the Grievers." Thomas's voice was quiet and he focused on Newt in front of him, before gaining a new energy as he addressed the room at large. "And this is the first real clue, the first _anything_ you've found in over three years -" he turned, gesturing sharply, turning to face the Keeper of the Runners, "right, Minho?"

"Right." Minho's voice was quiet, as if he could hardly believe it himself. Just when Tasha thought that she had begun to adjust to the changes, something new throws her for a tailspin. Adapting was difficult and she didn't always manage it.

"Newt, we gotta go back out there." Thomas implored the second in command. "Who knows where this might lead us." The unspoken promise of opportunity was enough to convince some of the others, shifting nervously as they waited for the official decision. There was silence as Newt evaluated the statement, the other Gladers hovering behind the Keepers. He eventually huffed out a sigh and looked to Gally, whose frown was so deep that Tasha could have planted seeds in it - and wasn't that an odd thing to consider at that moment.

"You see what he's trying to do, right?" Gally growled, his gaze locked with Newt's. "First he breaks our rules and then he tries to get us to abandon them totally? Wh-" There was barely a moment of tense silence, following Gally's enraged word fumble, before he steamrolled ahead. "The rules are the only thing that have held us together, why now are we questioning that?" He asked, his voice raised, catching the attention of the gathered Gladers. As if it was a last ditch effort, Gally bit out, "If Alby was here, you know he'd agree with me." He sighed, shaking his head, "This shank," he pointed at Thomas, "needs to be punished."

Newt looked away from Gally, to Thomas's horrified expression. Tasha remained painfully impassive, but an angry retort pressed itself to the back of her teeth, waiting to be spat at the Keeper of the Builders. Newt looked… uncomfortable, as if in pain, and Tasha's anger dissipated as he handed Minho back the device.

"You're right. Thomas broke the rules." Tasha shut down at Newt's words. They were going to kill Thomas, _they couldn't, she wouldn't let them-_! Her thoughts stopped short, the anger hidden to the rest of the Gladers, being thoroughly doused at Newt's command. "One night in the pit and no food." She couldn't help the beaming grin that spread over her features. Punishment was punishment, but at least he didn't _die_.

"Oh, come on, Newt!" Gally snapped, his reaction almost the polar opposite to Tasha's. His emotions were easy to read and overinflated, but he didn't apologise for them. In some weird, twisted way, Tasha admired that about him. "One night in the pit; do you think that's going to stop him going into the Maze?" The distress was evident in Gally's voice and she could see where he was coming from, but she also knew that he didn't understand, that he wasn't _curious_ like Thomas was, _like she was_.

"No." Newt said, simply, making the gathered company frown, "and we can't just have non-Runners running into the Maze whenever they feel like it." He waited impatiently for Newt to finish his thought, ignorant to anything else in the room. The happiness in Tasha's heart threatened to explode at Newt's next words. "So let's make it official; starting tomorrow, you're a Runner." He said, his gaze locked with Thomas's. The tension in the room heightened and Tasha could almost taste Thomas's anticipation. Tasha could see Minho nod in approval, and her own restrained smile communicated as much, despite everyone's focus on Newt and Thomas.

"Wow." Gally scoffed sarcastically, shaking his head in disbelief. He stormed out of the room, past the other Gladers. He sent Tasha a withering look, to which she sneered at him, but his attention was drawn away by Frypan trying to grab his arm.

"Gally…" Frypan muttered, to which the Keeper brushed him off, icily.

"No, Fry." He huffed, leaving with a slammed door, Frypan following in his wake. There was silence as those who were gathered tried to comprehend what had happened, and Tasha could see the broken look on Newt's face. As much of a shuck-face as Gally was, he was also a cornerstone of their society, trusted, Keeper of the Builders; if they had lost him, who knows who else they had lost.

"Thanks, Newt." Thomas said, quietly thankful for Newt's support. Newt looked torn, unable to respond to the new Runner. Minho looked to Tasha, who nodded once as Newt began to retreat. Tasha gave Thomas a small smile as she passed, Thomas looking lost and confused, which honestly, was pretty much his default now. At least this time he had a bit more reason.

Before he could get too far away, Tasha caught Newt's sleeve, and he huffed out a weary, "What?" But she didn't answer, she pulled him into a tight hug. He froze for a moment, before relaxing into her grip. He nuzzled his head into her neck, wrapping his arms tightly around her. She could hear Minho telling the others to leave, that he had to show Thomas something. They don't move for a long time, don't speak, just stay wrapped in each other. Newt holds her like he's afraid she'll slip away if he doesn't pin her down, threads his fingers through her hair and presses kisses to her neck like he wants to drown in her embrace. He's the first to pull away, neither of them let go because they can't, not now. He holds her face in his hands and there's an indescribable pain in his eyes; he _cares_ , he cares so much it hurts and she feels like crying because he shouldn't have to feel like this, shouldn't have to feel so alone. He kisses her and there's so much longing she can taste it on his lips; they don't speak about it, because it's not what they do, but in that instance, they both understand. _I'm not alone, I've got you_.

They don't say a word, but Newt's wearing a weak smile as he wraps his arm tightly around Tasha's waist when they leave the Gathering building. The sky's still blue and the sun doesn't shine, but he pressed a kiss into her hair and things felt alright.


	17. Above or Below

"Newt!" Their moment is broken by Jeff, who's running towards them from the Med-Jack hut, while Clint followed a pale blur behind him. "The girl's awake," the pale blur became a girl with hair as black as night and Tasha almosts laughs at Jeff's sigh, "and she is not happy." They watch in fascination as the girl climbs the tower, angrily spitting curse words at Clint and throwing things at the Gladers who had begun to gather at the base of the structure, intrigued.

"Well, you should go grab Minho and Tommy, they have something to do with this, I bet you." Newt mused, a sparkle of humour in his eyes as he watched the girl, Jeff nodding and , running off in the direction of the forest. Tasha's eyebrows rose, but Newt simply muttered, "Map room." She nodded in understanding and turned back to the tower.

"We should see if they need help." She she finally muttered as the crowd at the base of the tower grew to a considerable size. To Tasha's constant amusement, this did not impede upon the girl's plan to throw things at the others, rather, she threw with more force than before and Tasha quietly hoped that a few of them were hit. _She never claimed to be perfect._

Newt hummed thoughtfully, before he nodded, removing his arm from around Tasha and he took off at a slow jog. Tasha tried to push down the suddenly cold, vaguely empty feeling that had flooded her, and forced her usual, cool mask onto her face as she trailed behind Newt. "Hey!" He called up to the girl, using his hands to shelter his face from her the objects she was lobbing at them

"I said go away!" She screamed, now hidden from sight at the top of the tower, but not out of earshot, a barrage of sticks and rocks managing to hit the Gladers below. Tasha frowned for a moment, stalling from where she had begun to walk over to join them, before diverting her course and heading to the Builder's supplies. She gathered up a stack of thick boards in different materials, some wood and some metal, trotting back to the crowd, dragging the boards behind herself.

"Here, use them as cover." She told the others, distributing them among the boys. The projectiles clanged uselessly off of the makeshift shields and Tasha silently congratulated herself. She watched Gally refuse a shield and she rolled her eyes at him, as she stood away from the crowd, over near Chuck, out of the line of fire, who had just directed Thomas and Minho to the commotion.

"Hey, what happened?" Thomas asked Gally, which in hindsight, was probably not the best course of action. Gally didn't answer, which, of course, surprised no-one, rather his attention was focused on the girl, letting Newt step out from his shield to get closer to the Greenie.

"I don't think she likes us very much." He huffed with laughter, his amused gaze directed towards the girl as she shouted out from her perch.

"What do you want from me?" She demanded, distress and anger clear in her voice. Tasha recognised it, recognised it easily as the same distress she had been plagued with upon her arrival to the Glade, however, she and the girl had chosen to run in different directions. Tasha hummed thoughtfully amidst the chaos, thinking idly about whether she had made the right choice, to run away rather than towards the Glade.

"Hey, look, we just want to talk!" Thomas cried, shielding himself with his hands from her onslaught. By some miracle, most of the projectiles had managed to miss him, and he edged, painfully slowly, towards the structure she was situated within.

"I'm warning you!" Her angry words brought with them a particularly big rock, thumping just in front of Thomas and Gally. Cries to take cover reverberated around the Gladers and Thomas yelled for her to calm down, the moment morphing into an eerie mirror of the confrontation between him and Gally on the first day. Tasha tries not to think about it. Three days ago was a world away. _Everything is changing._

"Woah, it's Thomas! It's Thomas!" Thomas cried out, eventually. Like someone has switched off a light, the assault on the Gladers ceased and all was quiet. They seemed rather confused, but didn't object to the sudden safety.. Peering up to the top of the tower, the dark haired beauty was visible, eyeing them warily. "I'm coming up, OK?" Thomas continued, carefully. She didn't respond, but she also didn't throw things, which he took as a positive. "Ok." Thomas huffed, almost as if he could hardly believe it himself. Gally made a move towards the base of the tower, but Thomas frowned, shaking his head at the Builder. "Just me." Gally's face was full of disbelief as Thomas started to slowly ascend up the tower, periodically shouting his positive intentions. The gazes of the other Gladers were drawn upwards, watching and waiting and generally being amused at the pair of Greenies and their antics. Tasha didn't speak to any of the others, but Newt turned and smile at her, the crinkly eyed smile that made him look much younger and more carefree than he was, so all was well.

"What's going on up there?" Gally, barely five minutes later, had grown impatient and shouted up to Thomas and the girl. Thomas's face appeared at the edge of the structure, unharmed and less worried than had been on the climb up. .

"Is she coming down?" Newt asked. The other Gladers were beginning to scatter, heading back to their jobs in the afternoon light. Thomas deliberated, obviously considering the other occupant of the tower.

"You guys just give us a second, OK?" He called down after his deliberation. It was disheartening, that with so much progress made that morning, the girl would be uncooperative and stall their progression. Tasha honestly didn't blame her, however, the feelings of loneliness and isolation that she was all too familiar with was mirrored, time and time again, in the new arrivals.

"Alright." Newt mumbled to the others, the few still bothered to watch the Greenie who had become a fast favourite of the second in command. "Come on!" He motioned for them to leave and go about their business, leave the Greenies in peace.

"So this is what all girls are like…" Frypan huffed in disbelief, shaking his head and strolling casually back to the kitchens to prepare the Gladers' meal for that night. The others all began to leave, heading off in dribs and drabs, back to their jobs, or, more precisely, to gossip like the old ladies they not-so-secretly were. Tasha caught up to Newt as he began to make his way back to the Gathering Hall, and he he smiled softly at her as they walked, taking her hand and pressing a quick kiss to it.

"Go change from your Runner's gear, love." He told her, quietly, gently shoving her in the direction of the supplies room. Tasha snorted out a laugh, but followed his instructions anyways. The only other person to join her as she was packing away her equipment was Minho, who seemed exhausted, and she could honestly see why.

"How are you?" She asked, quietly. Minho looked up, as if surprised by her question. He blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the hazy, sleep-induced fog from his eyes. He had spent a night in the maze and hadn't even taken a day to rest, she was not envious of his position right now.

"Tired." He admitted. Tasha nodded once and they were stuck in a silence that bordered on awkward, but wasn't quite. "I think I get it now." He said, suddenly breaking the silence. Tasha, looked up, surprised, as she had been fully prepared to last out the awkward silence until one of them broke and left. She shot him and quizzical glance and he huffed, trying to arrange his thoughts before articulating them. "About you wanting to go back into the Maze." He explained, leaving a pause as he searched for the right words, "I know what I'm up against." He said, dredging up her own words from all those years ago. Tasha smiled bleakly at the memory and her stomach made a pitiful flip, enough to let her know that the memory cause her discomfort, but not enough to last more than a moment. "I don't know how I made it out; that's Greenie's some kind of something." He muttered, half laughing. Tasha nodded, once, the way she always did, but crossed the distance between them to hug Minho tightly. He was shocked at first, Tasha wasn't a very affectionate person on the best of days, but he relaxed, hugging her back.

"Thanks for not dying." She told him, solemnly. He chuckled at her blunt, but thoughtful statement.

"Thanks. I'm not sure how, but… well, _'terrifying'_ is definitely an word I would include." He said, only the vague hint of a joke in his words. Tasha had never connected with Minho more than in that moment, and she rather hoped it could last longer than a mere moment; but then it was gone with his laugh, as he drew back and prodded at Tasha's ribs. "So, you and Newt look pretty cosy."

"We always look like that." She rolled her eyes, half the Glade assumed they were dating anyway, the other half must have known it would be inevitable. A funny look came over Minho's face that Tasha couldn't identify and he shook his head.

"No, there's… something more. I don't know, it's not exactly describable." There was a pause, "It's like an official seal or something? When did you spit it out?" He asked, smirking. Tasha turned beet red and dropped her gaze, suddenly awkward where she was always collected.

"When you were stuck in the Maze." She mumbled, finally, under Minho's knowing stare.

"So I was fighting for my life and you were sucking face with my friend?" He asked, eyebrow raised, he knew it was too far, but it was rather worth it for the indignant look that changed Tasha's whole physicality. She rose, as if being inflated, her chest puffing out and her scowl deepening as she shoved him roughly.

"It wasn't as if I could pry the gates open and run to the rescue.." She told him, and he shoved her back, just as hard, but with no malice behind it. Tasha deflated, looking like a wounded dog at the accusation that she didn't want to help her friends. "Anyway, for a guy running on no sleep, you're not pulling your punches. Get some rest, you need it." She finished, quickly, avoiding looking directly at his watchful eyes.

"I'm not the only one, how much shut eye did you get last night yourself?" Minho smirked. The tension dropped and Tasha rolled her eyes at him, her gaze deadpan. However, even as he said it, she could feel the exhaustion of the day beginning to weigh down upon her. There was a moment of the two of them simply standing in their cotton rest clothing, no words being said as they smiled at one another, where nothing else mattered, and the two friends had each other. Minho was here, alive and smiling. Newt was out there, alive and smiling. The girl was awake, alive and she had Thomas. They were still here, and things were finally looking good.

"I'm so glad you're here, shank." She told him, smiling sleepily under her tiredness. Minho barked out a laugh and they left the supply room.

"You're such a sap."


	18. Friend or Foe

Newt came back from the Med-Jack tent looking tired and tense, his hair a mess and an exhaustion that made the lights around him grow dark. "I don't know what to think anymore, Tash." He sighed, his voice quiet and intimate as he slumped into a seat beside Tasha. He still didn't want the other Gladers panicking, but Tasha was his rock and he needed to talk to someone. She had been eating dinner quietly by herself at the far end of the set of tables, most of the Gladers had opted to take some of Frypan's trademark soup, but she had bypassed it to make herself a sandwich, her appetite small despite the exertions of the day. She raised her eyebrows and wrapped her arm around him, pulling him closer and letting him lean on her. "That bloody Greenie… He's saved Alby, you know?" Tasha made a noise of surprise and offered him some of her sandwich, which he took a bite of. "And I just… there's things happening Tash, everything's chaos and I have to set it right." His thoughts flew back to Alby, shivering and gasping on the bed; Newt wasn't sure he would make it through the night, but he had to hope. He wasn't second in command anymore, not while Alby was out of order, he was in charge.

"Not on your own." Tasha offered, simply, her voice cutting through his bitter words. Newt's eyes were downcast, gazing at his fingers where he played with the strap of his pack absentmindedly.

"Not on my own." He parrotted forlornly. Newt let out a sigh, moved out of Tasha's embrace. She let him go without a fuss, but he started when she suddenly put her hand in his.

"Tonight's a bad night to be on your own." Tasha mumbled, and Newt lifted his head, looking at her curiously, there was compassion in her eyes, something he rarely ever saw, but it was there. "Can I stay in your bunk?" She asked and Newt didn't even hesitate to nod. It wasn't the first time they had shared a bunk, if they were being quite honest, it was almost on a weekly basis at this point, on the nights when being alone was bad and being together was good. They would just lay there, hearts beating in time, breathing quietly with only the sounds of the Glade to listen to… Those nights were not good nights to be alone, but they were nice together. "I love you." She muttered, kissing his cheek, before pulling her hands away and stepping over the bench they sat at. "I gotta go speak to Thomas." She told him. Newt nodded, knew the solidarity Tasha felt between Runners, it was the reason they had even become good friends in the first place, and didn't question it. She smiled at him, before making her way quietly over to the wooden jail they had built in the corner of the Glade. She had seen Chuck leave over half an hour ago and the place was shrouded in darkness. Tasha sat by the entrance, uncertain of what to say, waiting quietly.

"Thomas." She said, finally. Her voice neutral and devoid of inflection.

"Holy shit! How long have you been there?" He cried, and she could hear him scampering around in the dark. Tasha mentally berated on herself at her lack of forethought. No matter how the Greenie acted, he still was new, and she was _still_ very weird. She should have given him warning.

"A few minutes. Maybe ten." She admitted, finally, her wince hidden in the darkness that surrounded them.

" _Maybe ten_?" He replied, his voice a mixture of confused and angry. "Are you a freak?" Tasha was hurt; it certainly wasn't the first time someone had called her that, and she was willing to bet it wouldn't be the last, but it still hurt.

"Maybe." She managed, quietly. They were engulfed in an awkward silence for a while longer before Tasha spoke once more, finally breaking into what she had come to say. It took her a moment, trying to choose her words, but it didn't happen as gracefully as she would have liked.. "People generally don't like me, Thomas." She spat out, Thomas snorted with laughter.

"I can't _imagine_ why." If sarcasm didn't _actually_ drip from his words, it wasn't from lack of trying. Tasha couldn't keep the wounded look off of her face, suddenly thankful for the darkness. She cleared her throat and continued on, as if she hadn't heard him.

"And I don't generally like people. But," the words felt heavy on her tongue, as if it were taking actual physical strength to get her to admit it, "I like Runners." She finally said, her voice clipped, as if she were waiting for him to laugh at her again. "The Maze is horrifying, especially at night, and-" she was cut off, mid sentence by the impatient huff from Thomas.

"But you don't know, OK?" His voice was a harsh yell, snapping at her. Tasha felt her hands beginning to shake as memories of Grievers and moving walls swam before her vision. "You don't understand what it's like out there! At night!" Thomas groaned. She was silent, the words _I will not have a panic attack_ looping through her head as her hands violently shook in her lap. Thomas spoke up when she remained quiet, he sounded doubtful. "You don't, do you?" There was another pause, Thomas thinking over the odd and cryptic things that she had told him, that she had said to him and it all began to click into place. "You've survived the night."

Tasha swallowed hard, her whole body shaking as she tried to breath normally… it wasn't working. "Yeah." She huffed.

"Tasha," Thomas's voice was hard and defiant, but Tasha cut him off, quickly. Her breathing coming back under her control as she focused on what she had to say, pushing the thoughts of the Maze from her mind.

"Thomas, no matter what you've done in your past life, I trust who you are now, you who've seen the Maze at night. It's terrifying, you know that now, but you can survive it." She's glad at how little she stumbled over her words, and goes back to breathing deeply to calm herself.

Thomas's voice ruins it, or, more precisely, his words do. "But if you've survived the night," and Tasha's got memories of the night she survived racing through her head again, and the day after, where Minho thought it would be good to tell the Gladers. She shakes her head, even at the memory, despite Thomas's questions. "why would you lie to people for so long?"

There's fear in her voice when she answers and she can barely believe that this is happening to her, _not here, not now in front of the Greenie._ "You have to understand, I was an anomaly. I was convinced I was a fluke…" She doesn't say _'I wasn't meant to survive'_ but she thinks it loud enough for the tears to begin to well in her eyes. She wipes the away hastily. "What I'm trying to say," she takes a deep breath and spits out the point she had came to make in the first place, "is that if push comes to shove, I'm on your side."

Then there's silence, silence so loud it's practically deafening as it presses against her eardrums. Thomas is the first to speak. "So you believe there's a way out?" He asked, to which Tasha sighed.

"I never said that." She told him. Then silence, again. She makes a move to get up, but he speaks again.

"What do you believe then?" He asked. It takes Tasha a moment to process his question, and another to really consider it. She knows the answer, she doesn't run to get out, she doesn't run to stay fit, she runs because she has to.

"I believe that there are people I need to protect, that I need to fight for them." She said, simply. Thomas doesn't say any names in particular, but she knows that he thinks she means Newt. She does, to some extent, but it's more than that. It's Newt, it's Minho, it _was_ Ben and the other Runners… Hell, even now, it's Thomas.

"So you fight for them and not for you?" He asked. Tasha's smile, hidden in the black of night, is thin and wry.

"Yeah." The word was barely a hum, but it was there.

"That's…" He seemed lost for words, well, not lost exactly, more that he does want to tell her he thinks it's messed up. But then again, she's well aware of it. She's too self-aware not to be. Tasha sighed.

"I know." There was a heavy silence and Tasha stood up. "I'm on your side, Thomas." She told him, her voice returning to it's neutral, clipped tone as she walked away, making her footsteps as loud as possible to tell him she's gone.

Newt was laying in his bed by the time she had gotten back, sprawled out across the vaguely uncomfortable mattress that was still better than a hammock. One of the benefits of being second in command was a bed of your own, which Newt shared with Tasha on several occasions. She stopped past her own bunk, slipping into her sleepwear, before crawling into bed beside Newt. He threw an arm over her, pressing a kiss to her shoulder blade.

"How did your talk go?" He mumbled, sleepily. One eye open to watch her face, the other pressed into the pillow. His hair was mussed, as if he had been running his hands through it anxiously, thinking over Alby's condition and the state of the Gladers.

"Not great." She admitted, her hands still shaking slightly as she pulled the blanket up and over them. Newt hummed thoughtfully, pulling her closer so her back was pressed again his chest.

"Goodnight, love." He murmured into her ear, barely audible even to Tasha. She smiled despite herself, snuggling in close to him.

"Goodnight."


	19. Guys or Dolls

Everything was warm and comfortable when Tasha woke the next morning, something, or rather, someone pressed against her back. Newt had his arm draped over her, his fingers brushing her stomach and his breathing slow and rhythmic. There's light through the thatching of the roof, not enough for the majority of the Glade to be woken by it, but light enough to start the day for the Runners. She doesn't want to move from her warm little reprieve, but she thought it best if she at least asked Minho if he wanted her running that day. She didn't bother waking Newt, just shimmied quietly from the bed and padded through the Glade in her pyjamas.

"Minho," the Keeper of the Runners was making his way to the map room, already dressed and ready to begin, just without his equipment, Thomas following closely on his heels. "Minho do you want me running today?" Tasha asked, her voice warm and raspy with sleep. It there was a cool breeze blowing from somewhere to the right, which made Tasha shiver and wrap her arms around herself. Thomas avoided her gaze, but Minho gave her an appraising look, before his gaze flicked to the Maze and back to Tasha.

"Thomas and I are exploring some of the outer regions, should be an easy enough run, take maybe half the day, at most." Minho murmured, his brow furrowing as he considered it, the route already planned in his head. Tasha nodded, still uncertain as to whether she was running or not that day. Minho was quiet for a moment, before his gaze was drawn to the Homestead, and he told her, "Newt needs you now." Tasha smiled weakly, but understood.

"Thanks, Min." She told him, not only thanking him for her own sake, but Newt's also. "Stay safe." She told the both of them, clapping Minho on the shoulder before turning on her heel and walking off. Minho turned also, heading towards the equipment room, but Thomas had stayed rooted to the spot, frowning.

"Hey, sorry." He called out after her, she quirked an eyebrow as she glanced over her shoulder. Minho had stopped too and Tasha's gaze locked with Thomas's. "For laughing at you yesterday." He explained. Tasha's expression went blank for a moment as she suppressed the shudder that almost erupted through her. _I can't believe he had seen me so weak_.

"It's OK, I'm used to it." She told him, a small, bitter smile on her lips, that really was more like a grimace than a smile. Thomas's face fell, and he followed like a lost puppy when Minho tugged him away. Tasha made her way back to Newt's room, unsure of how she felt, discomfort and dissatisfaction sinking low in her belly, but she was surprised to see him blinking blearily in the light.

"Oh, were you talking… Runner… Minho." Newt mumbled, barely conscious. She laughed quietly, her discomfort forgotten in that instant. Everything was alright as she crawled back into the bed beside Newt, letting him hold her close and make sleepy, content noises against her back. "Can we just… lie here, forever?" He asked, quietly, placing a soft kiss on her shoulder, to which Tasha smiled warmly, twisting around to face him, one of his hands still draped over her. They were lying nose to nose, and Tasha closed the space between them, kissing him softly and sweetly.

"Yeah." She mumbled and closed her eyes, slipping back into a dreamless, content sleep. It was harsh, waking up to the sharp light of the morning sky through the slats as Newt shook her awake a few hours later, around the time the others began their breakfast. His expression already weary before the beginning of the day and Tasha's face fell as her thoughts drifted to only mere hours ago, how happy and peaceful they had been. She could hear the movement of the other Gladers as they began their days and followed Newt out of the room, offering Newt a cautious smile which he returned, almost reluctantly, but he wrapped his arm around her, taking a moment to look over the Glade. There was a loud whistle from one of the others and Tasha rolled her eyes, as Newt chuckled, but they parted ways as Tasha made her way to her own bunk. Surprisingly enough however, there was someone occupying her bunk when she went to retrieve her clothes. She wondered if it was one of the others trying to prank her, but the lump was too small to be anyone who would usually prank her, so she stuck to prodding the hammock with her foot, making the occupant jump, which made Tasha jump also.

"Who the hell is that?" A wild tangle of black hair and beautiful, blue eyes peered over the lip of the hammock, glaring at Tasha. She relaxed and bent down, grabbing her clothing, avoiding the angry eyes of the Greenie.

"Tasha." She flicked her hand towards the hammock, almost forcibly nonchalant and she had to silently remind herself not to frown, "This is my bunk." It wasn't an accusation, simply a fact; Tasha didn't even really mind if she was being honest. The girl struggled to a sitting position, her legs presumably cramped beneath herself as she rested her arms on the edge of the hammock and she continued to glare at Tasha.

"They said I could have it, said it was the girl's." It took her a moment in which Tasha froze up, suddenly very aware of her own body and appearance, and a wave of uncertainty coursed through her, though her expression was carefully neutral. "Oh." Was all the other girl had to say. Tasha let out a sigh and scrunched up her face, looking over her shoulder to where a majority of the others were gathered for breakfast.

"Lazy slintheads." Tasha hissed bitterly at the thought of who would have given the girl her bunk, not that she minded, per say, but the startling lack of respect was new… well, that wasn't true either. It was probably Zart, maybe Winston. Didn't matter anyway. Seeing the girl's vaguely offended face, Tasha gave a lopsided grin, willing the tension out of her shoulders. "Not you," she assured the girl, her smile slipping, "I don't insult those I don't know." She said, simply. Teresa raised an eyebrow, almost challengingly.

"Teresa." Her voice was filled with defiance and Tasha felt a smile tugging at her lips, despite herself.

"Tasha." She replied. Teresa was silent for a moment, before snorting out a bitter laugh.

"You said that already." There was a pause and Tasha cursed silently, of course she had. Teresa seemed skeptical as she squinted at Tasha, analysing her. "Why are we here?" Teresa asked finally, her own natural curiosity overtaking her desire to be distrustful. Tasha relaxed with a shrug. "How long have you been here, then?" Teresa asked, her voice uncertain but demanding as she fired off another question.

"Two years." Tasha answered without a moment of pause and Teresa looked almost startled.

"And you still don't know?" She asked, narrowing her eyes. Tasha shook her head, feeling that same sense of vague discomfort that she had felt earlier, both with Thomas, and her initial reaction to Teresa that morning. "How do you survive?" Teresa asked. Tasha hummed thoughtfully and her smile leaned to that of a more wicked smirk.

"Make your bite worse than your bark." Tasha said, her tone only containing light notes of humour, the metaphor was amusing, but she was being completely serious.

"It mustn't be difficult when you don't say a lot." Teresa snapped, her eyes finding Tasha and Tasha clenched her jaw shut at the stinging barb, unwilling to let it show how it had affected her. Her social skills were still one of her sore spots.

"I say enough." Her tone was clipped, but she relented for a moment, "Conversation was developed by people to conceal reality." She explained, as she had to many other Greenies in the past when they inevitably got nosey. Teresa sighed, bitterly, and sunk further into Tasha's hammock, her nose and eyes still visible, along with her wild, dark hair.

"Great, just great." She muttered, seeming to deflate as she slumped back into the hammock and out of sight. Tasha shook her head, smiling, before she toed the bottom of the hammock again, gaining Teresa's attention.

"You can keep it." Tasha told her, her voice flat, but not unkind as Teresa looked up, bewildered. "The hammock." Tasha clarified, and the look of surprise on Teresa's face was the last thing Tasha saw before she left the hut, which she honestly didn't mind. What she _did_ mind was a plank of wood almost smacking her in the face as soon as she left said hut. She skittered back with a start, rearing like a frightened horse, before she caught sight of the Builder who carried it.

"Out of the way, shank!" Gally called, not looking at her, heading towards one of the outer sections of the Homestead. Tasha huffed angrily, storming off to get some food for herself; Frypan's bacon and eggs were as good as they always were, and she was actually in a reasonable enough mood that she didn't complain when asked by Newt to spend the day with Teresa.

"Tash, you're a girl." Newt began, his voice mild. Tasha's smile was wry, and she nodded as a sign to continue, despite the wave of self doubt that came with his claim. "Could you stay with Teresa today?" She looked up at him, half-way through a bite of egg, and he continued on. "I need to oversee repairs for one of the outer huts that collapsed during the rain."

"Who knew water washed away mud?" Tasha muttered, deadpan, but she was smirking and Newt rolled his eyes, taking a bite of his own bacon. The silence between them was thick with unspoken words about everything and nothing, Tasha leaning against Newt, leg pressed flush against his beneath the table. "Yeah, I'll keep her company." Tasha mumbled, and Newt grinned at her.

"Good that." He chuckled, clearly happy with the outcome of the discussion. He headed off soon after and Tasha was left to find Teresa and bring her to where she was to be helping watch over, Alby in the Med-Jack hut. Tasha found it pleasant enough work, having discovered her own ability to sit eerily still, almost like stone, for long periods of time to freak out the other Gladers, and she honestly didn't mind the Med-Jacks. Teresa, however, was less enthused with her confinement - because honestly, that's what it was - with the weird, quiet runner.

Teresa had stopped her pacing for the fourth time that morning, and had seated herself on one of the spare beds by Alby, her legs curled beneath herself. Tasha sat beside her, straight-backed and on edge, as was her nature. "What are we doing here?" She asked that at least once an hour since it had begun, and Tasha replied with the same answer she had always given.

"People need to watch Alby." Tasha sounded almost like a broken record at this stage, her voice polite but neutral, to which Teresa huffed angrily, sick of hearing the same words over and over again. Unlike the last three times, she continued to question Tasha.

"What about the people who do that anyway?" She asked, gesturing to the window, outside of which the rest of the Glade lay.

"Med-Jacks?" Tasha asked, still calm and placid, focusing on controlling her breathing, simply to see if she could.

"Yeah." Teresa turned the term over in her mind, still trying to get her head around much of the Glader terminology. _Med-Jacks, Runners, Brick-niks, Shanks, Grievers… the list goes on._

"Can't." Tasha chirped after a long pause, her eyes glued to the window, watching and waiting for something to happen, not that she assumed it would.

"Why not?" Teresa drew Tasha attention away from the window and Tasha rolled her eyes.

"They have their own posts." Tasha huffed. It had been agreed that Jeff and Clint would stay with the Builders and Slicers, who always seemed to need the most medical attention, as long as someone else stayed to watch Alby. Today, that was Tasha.

Teresa grew impatient, figuring that she could have been of more use out in the Glade, helping the others, not stuck with Tasha watching an unconscious guy. "So why do I have to sit here and-"

"Fine." Tasha's voice was short and sharp and she frowned at Teresa, cutting her off mid sentence.. "What do you want?" Teresa was silent, seeming to retract inside of herself to consider the proposition. Her expression changed from demure to bold and once she held Tasha's eye contact, she daren't break it.

"I want answers." She said, simply.

"What are your questions?" Tasha said, her face blank. Teresa narrowed her eyes, but remained quiet for the moment, before beginning slowly, considering her words very carefully.

"Where am I?" She asked. Tasha evaluated the statement before responding.

"The Glade." Teresa frowned at her and Tasha rolled her eyes, relaxing, "In a glorified prison surrounded by a stone maze where the sun never shines but it's always blue skies." She elaborated. Teresa seemed unsatisfied with the answer, but seemed to realise that it was the best she was going to get.

"Who put us here?" Her second question was a lot more difficult than the first and Tasha hummed thoughtfully before responding.

"We don't know for certain; we call them the Creators because we assume they created this place." She answered. Teresa analysed her for a moment, holding Tasha's unwavering gaze, and knew she was telling the truth.

"And Thomas?" Tasha's eyes went wide and she had to remind herself to keep her mouth from dropping open in surprise. She had not been expecting this question, but she realised she should have been.

"Thomas is…" Tasha paused, finally breaking eye contact and avoiding Teresa's gaze, "Thomas is different. Ever since he came into the Glade, everything is changing." Tasha swallowed thickly, a trickle of cold fear running down her spine as she finally uttered the words that had been plaguing her for so long.

" _Everything is going to change._ " Teresa's eyes glazed over as she mumbled to herself, lost in her own thoughts. Tasha's head shot up, as if she hadn't heard correctly what she was sure she had.

"What?" She asked, to which Teresa shook her head, as if swishing the thought from her mind. It was Tasha's turn to be skeptical as she considered the possibility that Teresa actually knew more than she was letting on.

"Ah, nothing-" Teresa finally mumbled, suddenly embarrassed, as if she had uttered a secret. Their conversation was cut short by a thick, heavy rumbling sound and the ground shaking beneath them. "What was that?" Teresa asked, concern in her voice at was evident on Tasha's face. Tasha jumped to her feet, looking through the small window to the Glade. Gladers were coming out from the woodwork, leaving all of their jobs in the middle of the day to head to the gate, full of curiosity and obvious fear, though some tried to hide it. Something was happening, there was movement by the gate and that annoying little voice in Tasha's head made itself known once more, _everything is changing._

There was a beat and Tasha looked to Teresa, who seemed confused, but willing to help. She admired the girl's drive, but she couldn't put her in danger until she was sure that there wasn't any danger at all. "Stay here." Tasha muttered, leaving Alby and a bitter Teresa as she burst from the hut and sprinted across the Glade.


	20. You or I

Tasha had made it to the the open doors of the Maze in time to hear Newt yell, "What the hell's going on out there?" As Thomas and Minho made their way back, not stopping as they walked from the gates, breath coming in short sharp pants. The rest of the Gladers follow, swarming about like confused bees, some lagging behind while a select few crowd about the two returning Runners.

"What have you done now, Thomas?" Growled Gally, anger and accusation in his voice as Minho stalked back to the Gathering hut. Thomas picked up his pace, ignoring Gally to join Minho, who had begun power walking across the Glade.

"We found something." Thomas said, his voice intense and serious, but his tone betraying his thinly veiled excitement. "A new passage; we think it could be a way out." He panted. Tasha almost froze up, but forced herself to keep moving, or else she would be left at the back of the pack.

"Really?" Newt's voice was filled with the sort of hope that Tasha hadn't heard in years, and she allowed herself a slight smile, it wasn't even the smile, it was barely alluded to it, but around a crowd this big, it was her equivalent of laughing and jazz hands, so Minho smiled back at her before answering Newt.

"It's true." He sounded tired but speculative, less serious and sombre than he had always been, the tiny butterfly of hope that had sprung up in Tasha's chest began fluttering more insistently, bouncing against her ribs and filling her with unidentifiable positivity and nausea. _Maybe the change wasn't all bad._ "It opened a door, something I had never seen before." Minho informed the gathered Gladers. "I think it must be where the Grievers go during the day." Tasha stopped dead, her whole body going cold at his words.

"Wait, woah, woah, woah… are you saying you found the Griever's home?" Chuck asked, voicing Tasha's fears as he worked to catch up the second in command and the two runners. passing the female runner as he did so. "And you want us to go in?" He sounded doubtful. Tasha sprinted to join the small party up ahead, and could see the grin on Minho's face, but could only smile weakly in return.

"Their way in could be our way out, Chuck." Thomas reasoned, his voice cautiously optimistic. Tasha watched and waited for the others, carefully gauging their reactions to temper her own.

"Yeah, or there could be a dozen Grievers on the other side," Gally cut in, his anger stifling the happiness of the others that had begun to worm it's way through Tasha's uncertainty. She could almost feel all of her hairs stand on end as he spoke, his whole attitude annoying her, putting her on edge. "the truth is; Thomas doesn't know what he's done. As usual." Gally spat. Tasha and Thomas span at almost the exact same time to face Gally, Tasha taking a stance behind the Runner, joined by Newt and Minho as backup for Thomas, all glaring at the Builder in mutual anger and frustration at Gally's continued disapproval of the newest Runner.

"Hey, well at least I did something, Gally." Thomas hissed, "What have you done, huh? Aside from hide behind these walls all the time?" Tasha could hear the sting in Thomas's words and felt Newt flinch beside her. It was a low shot, even for Thomas, but all of them remained angry at the Keeper of the Builders.

"Let me tell you something, _Greenie_ ," Gally snarled, poking Thomas in the chest with three fingers, hardly seeming phased by his comment, or, perhaps, even more riled up. "You've been here three days. I've been here _three years_."

"You've been here three years and you're _still here_ , Gally!" Thomas's incredulous cry filled the now silent Glade, "So what does that tell you? Maybe you should start doing thing a little differently!" Tasha stiffened up, her whole body going rigid at Thomas's words. They had continued with this because it _worked_ , not because they were doing it out of spite. If they had another plan, they would have tried it, but they had been doing the best with what they had, Gally included.

" _Guys!_ " Teresa's soft voice came from the side of the group, startling Tasha out of her frozen state. She frowned at Teresa from where she stood and Teresa simply nodded to Thomas. Tasha huffed out an angry sigh.

"Yeah, well maybe you should be in charge, Thomas. What about that -?" Gally mocked, obviously hurt by the Runner's statement, but unwilling to give him the satisfaction as sarcasm dripped from his words. Tasha felt an angry retort bubbling in her throat as her expression contorted into one of derision, but she was cut off before a single word left her lips.

"Hey! Guys!" Teresa cried, the volume of her voice at least enough to quiet them down. "It's _Alby_." She announced, and _that_ got their attention, especially the four gathered around Thomas, and, of course, the Runner himself. "He's awake." She looked between them, before her gaze settled on him, trying to communicate some meaning that only he would understand. There was something about the two of them, the undeniable bond they shared, Tasha was simultaneously envious and wary of it. He took off at a run, followed by Newt and Minho, along with Gally. Tasha trailed behind them, lagging back with Teresa. They didn't speak, but the silence wasn't hostile. Teresa did what she had to do and for that, Tasha was thankful; it mustn't have been easy to speak over the other Gladers - _they were strangers to Teresa still_ \- and it must have been nerve wracking, or perhaps that was simply Tasha's own fears. The others were waiting for Teresa at the door of the Med-Jack hut, as if she was the Keeper of Alby or somesuch, she pushed through the doors, the others following her nervously through to the small room that housed their leader.

"Has he said anything?" Asked Minho, all eyes trained on Alby, positioned in the middle of the room, not moving and not facing them where he sat.

"No." Muttered Teresa as the others fanned out behind Minho. Newt was the first to approach the leader, who was seated on the bed, hunched over with his arms crossed, brooding and pensive, his very demeanour making him seemingly untouchable to the others.

"Alby…" Newt mumbled, his voice so quiet and careful that it was almost painful to hear, full of concern and worry about the leader. "Alby, you alright?" He asked, sitting gingerly upon the bed beside him, leaving at least a foot of space between them, his eyes full of concern. Tasha watched, silently from the back of the pack, still harbouring some nausea and discomfort from the confrontation earlier. She kept playing it back in her head, wondering if there was a way she could have stopped the bitter resentment from overwhelming her, to be logical about things. She was lost in her own thoughts as the watched the leader, unfocused.

Alby was silent.

Thomas was the next to move forward, kneeling beside the black boy and trying to catch his gaze, Alby refused to look up, to even acknowledge the presence of the other Gladers surrounding him. "Hey, Alby…" He began, continuing hesitantly when there was no response, "We may have just found a way out of the Maze." He said, hope in his voice, something to try and lift the spirits of the gloomy leader, "Yeah, we could be getting out of here."

It was only the slightest shake of his head the verified that their leader was, in fact, alive and breathing, but everyone in the room caught Alby's slight movement. "We can't." He breathed, his voice quiet and hoarse, from his earlier screaming. Tasha's heart leapt into her throat, the same devastated tone she had always implemented around her phrase _'there's no way out_ ' wavering through Alby's lips. "Can't leave…" He sounded broken, almost on the verge of tears. Tasha felt her whole world beginning to crumble, which she was slightly confused about as she had never really had hope in the first place, or else, she always told herself she didn't. Perhaps she was simply trying to not get her hopes up. "They won't let us."

"What are you talking about?" Thomas's voice had an urgency in it that wasn't there before, as he once more tried and failed to catch Alby's gaze. Tasha felt as if she should try and reach out to the Greenie, comfort him somehow. She forced herself to not be too upset, to believe in Thomas and Minho, that there was a way out, but something still hurt in her chest.

"I remember…" The pause that followed Alby's words was one of the heaviest Tasha had ever experienced, her eyes widened and a sickening feeling invaded her gut. She caught Newt's expression out of the corner of her eye and saw it mirrored her own feelings; those of disorientation and tremendous worry.

"What do you remember?" Thomas asked, intense. Alby finally turned, looking straight at Thomas and mumbling one word. In the moments before he spoke, she could have heard a pin drop in the silence.

"You." Thomas looked as if he had been punched in the gut, like someone had betrayed him, however it was he who had betrayed himself. His inner turmoil was clear on his face and Tasha idly thought amongst her nausea that Thomas would be terrible at poker. Thomas was now the centre of attention, the tension hanging thick and heavy in the air around them, almost tangible as the other Gladers present all turning to face him with almost identical looks of shock on their faces. "You were always their favourite, Thomas." Alby mumbled, bitterly and Tasha felt like she couldn't breath. The others seemed to be in similar states of suspended animation as Alby continued, focused on Thomas as if there was no-one else in the room. "Always." The tension of the moment was undercut by the startling ruckus outside, Gladers calling out to one another, shouting and running past the hut. Tasha needed fresh air to clear her head, and to check that no-one had broken anything. She hissed a sigh, casting Newt a long suffering look, which he didn't return, his face a hardened mask of determination as he watched Alby and Thomas. She turned on her heel as the others kept the majority of their focus on the two in the centre of the room.

Outside, Tasha could see the problem as clear as day, and she decided then and there that fresh air would not help her nausea. It was well past the time of the Gates closing, and yet they stood proudly open. She could see the darkened entrance to the Maze and images flashed through her mind, the doors closing, the Grievers emergine, everything turning bad in a matter of minutes. She could feel her hands shake even as she looked around at the Gladers passing her by.

"Shuck." She hissed, her heart racing and the pain in her chest growing worse by the minute. "Winston!" She called out to the Keeper of the Slicers, who was passing at that moment with a bunch of torches in hand. He spun around, agitation and fear on his face that Tasha could feel reflected in her soul, even though she didn't show it on her face. "Pass me one." She gestured to one of the torches and he threw one to her, he turned as soon as he had, which Tasha was silently thankful for, as her shaking hands caused her to fumble the torch and almost set her shirt ablaze, but she had managed to get a hold of it, though it seemed to be vibrating in her shaky grip. The others had evidently left Alby in the Med-Jack hut, running to catch up with her as she headed for the gates.

"Hey, Tasha, what's going on?" Thomas called out. Tasha stopped abruptly, face blank for the blind terror behind her mask. She jerked the torch in her hand towards the door and hoped that they couldn't see the way it shook. The pain in her chest grew worse, and her legs began to tremble, but despite that, and the sudden difficulty she had breathing, she took back off, running faster than before, calling over her shoulder as loud as she could manage.

"The doors aren't closing."


	21. Sacrifice or Survival

Everyone stood, frozen by the Maze's entrance, fear and anticipation crackling through the air, all conflict from earlier that day forgotten at the loud thump of the Maze doors. Tasha felt the bile rise in the back of her throat and felt as if she might throw up, her stomach churning unpleasantly. All the gathered Gladers visibly recoiled at the sudden noise, clutching at their ears in pain, the noise echoing throughout the Glade, louder than it usually was. Tasha's suspicious were confirmed and her heartbeat accelerated as she turned swiftly, watching the other three doors of the Glade groaned open, one by one, leaving gaping darkness in their wake. Newt grabbed Tasha's hand and pulled her close out of habit, finding comfort in having their arms pressed together, side by side in the blue light of early evening.

"Hey, Chuck." Thomas turned to the youngest of the Gladers once all the doors were open, he was cautious, his expression serious and tense, "I want you to go to the Council hall, start barricading the doors." Thomas told him quietly, watching to make sure Chuck heard his every word. Chuck didn't hesitate in comprehending the request and nodded furiously, running in the direction of the Council Hall.

"Winston," Newt called out, louder than Thomas, but not by a lot, still uncertain of what the open gates would bring, but his gut told him it couldn't be good, "you go with him." He told the Keeper of the Slicers, who followed Chuck immediately.

"Grab the others," Gally's authoritative voice was directed at Frypan and Zart, who snapped to attention. Gally had that commanding air about him and, for once, he was using it for the good of the Glade, "tell them to go to the forest and hide, _now!_ " He demanded. The boys nodded, taking Gally's request seriously.

"Minho, I want you to grab every weapon you can find," Thomas breathed to the Keeper of the Runners, his voice quiet enough for only the closest few to hear, "I'll meet you at the council hall." Minho took off at a run without waiting for Thomas's say so, and Tasha felt herself tense up, ready to spring into action. She kept her eyes fixed on the gates while her insides began to burn, fear scratching at her throat. She knew Newt could feel her trembling but he thankfully didn't comment on it, he simply clutched her hand tighter, despite the sweatiness of her palms. "Hey, Teresa, you and I are going to go get Alby, alright?" Thomas asked the girl, to which she nodded, seriously, about to head off in the direction of the Med-Jack hut when a scream came from across the Glade. All heads whipped almost simultaneously to look at the source of the noise.

" _Grievers_!" The other Gladers called out, running from the door that they stood by. Tasha felt her blood run cold, her breaths coming in short sharp gasps and she dropped Newt's hand, setting her target destination. If she did let out a whimper at the roaring groan of the Grievers emanating from inside the Maze, no-one commented on it. The other Gladers turned to face the still empty Maze before Thomas began backing away slowly, cautiously, as he waited for the right moment as his voice became a roar that cut through the fear and the tension.

"Alright, everybody hide!" He yelled. Newt trusted Tasha to follow along behind him, not looking to see where she had gotten to, but rather he followed Thomas. He trusted her so he let her slip from his mind as he focused on keeping himself alive. There was a flurry of movement with fear like a thick fog hanging in the Glade, everyone running on adrenaline and sheer terror. Their group headed for the crops, Thomas realising that the forest was too far away for them to get to. Under the cover of corn and darkness, they waited anticipating halting them as they waited to make their next move.

"Alright, stay down!" Zart called out, huddled over in the field close to Newt. They could hear the screams of the other Gladers, see the flickers of what was sure to end up as a raging fire somewhere near the huts, but they hoped it wasn't - for now they didn't care. They were silent and motionless, illuminated by a single flaming torch, a moment of solidarity as they shared a silence laced with tense fear. There was a wail to the right and Newt flinched, hearing what must be one of the others being taken by a Griever, followed by another unearthly groan, much closer this time. Newt couldn't blame Tasha for her panic attack, not that he would ever dream of it, but if this is the fate that those stuck in the Maze were subjected to, well, she had been stronger than he had realised. A mechanical arm snaked up above the corn around them, hanging over their little group, pincer-like fingers clicking ominously before it lashed out, smashing Zart to the ground and pinning him there. It took the Gladers a moment to react, frozen with shock, it happened all at once, they screamed, lunging for him, but he was whipped into the air and out of sight. It didn't take long after that for them to bolt the other way, looking for a clearing in the crops, Zart's cries echoing through their mind.

"Go, get to the village!" Thomas shouted, leading the pack of Gladers through the field. They smashed through the crops and burst out into the clearing, legs pumping and breath coming in short gasps as they made their way over to the Med-Jack hut. Newt favoured his uninjured leg, barely a step behind the rest, his eyes focused on the hut, his stomach churning with unease. The noise had died down for considerably. While Gladers still being snatched left and right, but it seemed that they had mostly gone into hiding and hopefully, they would stay there. Something felt… _wrong_... felt off. He could barely pay attention to the brief exchange between Thomas and Jeff, discomfort thrumming like an electric current through his body.

 _Tasha!_ It clicked suddenly and he felt as if his legs might give out. He had lost her in the flurry of movement earlier. He searched the Med-Jack hut thoroughly, though it wasn't difficult, and began to feel light headed... She wasn't there. _She wasn't there and she was having a panic attack last time he was with her_.

" _Hey!_ " A voice, out in the open, loud enough to resonate through the entire Glade snapped Newt from his thoughts and froze him in place all at once. " _Hey!_ " The voice was louder, angrier and more defiant if possible, the noises of the other Gladers being taken almost silent. It was just her voice now. " _Hey, slintheads, I'm talking to you!_ " Shuck. Panic held Newt's heart in a tight grip as he scrambled to view the commotion, he rather wished he hadn't however, as he spotted four grievers advancing on Tasha, and she was grinning back, all sharp teeth and the promise of a bigger bite. " _What don't you remember me?_ " She spat, her grin turning into a sneer of contempt, the aura of self confidence marred by the torch's shaking, visibly from even Newt's perspective. She couldn't see him, which she was thankful for, or she may have chickened out right there an then. She couldn't see anything that wasn't those Grievers for that matter, but there were even more now that she had attracted the attention of them. They stalked closer, almost cautious, as if waiting for her to make the first move, metal limbs twitching and snapping in anticipation. Tasha was silent for a moment, smile widening into an almost eerie, forced mask as she pegged the torch at the Grievers and ran the other way, straight into the field of corn, and the Grievers followed as if it were a game. Newt knew what she was doing, of course she would offer herself as the heroic sacrifice, it was so like her, but he couldn't help the scream of anguish that he released. Newt had grown for his sorrows, had others there to support him and help him find his place in the Glade when he thought he had none after his fall... Tasha had barely anyone, never believed that she had been worth saving in the first place; she knew people didn't like her, and believed that if she died saving the Glade, maybe it was worth it. It felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest in that one moment, his only thought being survival, because… because it's what Tasha would have wanted. Newt followed the others, running behind the others, his leg aching as did his heart, but he continued on, even when his body told him he should stop, he kept pace with Thomas and Minho.

Tasha, fuelled by adrenaline and anticipation, did what she did best; _ran_. There were approximately six Grievers on her tail, their footsteps always thumping just behind her on the compact soil, but she could see her next target up ahead. She was faster than them by a lot more than she had expected, considering she hadn't even expected herself to be, and she shot from the corn fields straight into the now empty Maze. The Grievers followed behind her, however adapting was not in their strong suit, and with the Maze's twisting corners and abrupt stops, she had actually managed to lose them, hiding in a crevice beneath one of the ivy-covered walls. She waited a few minutes before bursting into quiet laughter, grinning wide enough to split her face, the laughter shook her whole body, not that she wasn't trembling before, and she kept laughing even when she was out of breath, even when she knew she was finally feeling the full effects of her panic attack, barely gasping in air between crazed laughter. There seemed to be an unspoken signal as the Grievers never came back looking for her, but she remained for what was closer to an hour than half, her chest tight as she lay there, hyperventilating, choking on air with her heart beating painfully against her ribs. It took her a few tries to awkwardly shimmy from her hiding place, still flooded with adrenaline from her run and her panic attack, too wired to be convinced she was safe. Instead, she simply ran from the Maze on shaking legs… in time to see Thomas loge a Griever's stinger into his stomach. She let out a cry as he hit the ground and she sped up, the panic attack having finally subsided during her last few turns heading back. Minho was attending to Thomas, cursing quietly and aided by the Med-Jacks and Teresa. Newt was waiting anxiously beside them, back facing Tasha, his face wet with silent tears.

"Hey." She mumbled, sidling up beside him, feeling as thought she was about to pass out, but grateful to have him as she knocked his shoulder with hers. Newt jumped at the sudden contact, looking at her as if he was seeing at a ghost. He swallowed hard, relief and joy and desire all flooding through him as he saw her standing there, _alive_.

"Tash…" He mumbled, knowing that there was nothing else to say before taking her face in his hands and kissing her hard. It was hardly elegant, all passion no finesse, but she kissed back, hot and needy as he wound his arms around her back and pulled her closer, as close as they could get. "I thought you had died." He breathed, before going back and kissing her again as she laced her fingers through his hair. Tasha laughed, it was a wet sound, and she could feel the hot tears beginning to track down her cheeks, the realisation of her actions crashing down around her.

"I'm sorry," She gasped, kissing him again, furiously. She didn't even for a second consider his feelings in her decision to face the Grievers, she knew she recognised the voice that had cried out when she had ran. It had been him. "I'm so sorry." She breathed, and he laughed into the kiss.

"Oh shuck, I love you." He mumbled, so relieved and content in that moment, despite the sore muscles and dirty clothes littered with singe marks. "I love you so bloody much." He murmured between kisses, and they were both smiling now, just happy to have each other. Gally, however, was the second one to notice her arrival, his frown deepening. He stormed up to them, prying them away from one another and keeping a death grip on Tasha's upper arm, her positive mood evaporating. Both made cries of outrage at the sudden seperation, but Gally ignored them.

"What the hell kind of stunt was that?" He shouted, vein pulsing in his temple, eyebrows looking angrier than usual. Tasha would laugh if she wasn't so angry, but then again, it was always a coin flip around Gally.

"The Grievers are _gone_." She spat, waving her hand at the still wide open Maze doors. Newt glared at Gally, but Minho pulled him aside to tend to Thomas.

"Yeah, but for how long? We're losing people left and right, you can't just go and give up!" Tasha opened her mouth to argue back with him, but Gally gave her a withering glare, "Don't say that's not what you were doing, you got lucky this time. Are you going to be able to outrun them forever?" He sneered, leaning down until his eyes were at her eye level.

"I don't need to outrun them forever," Tasha's smile was cold and cruel, sharp teeth and lifeless eyes, "I just need to outrun you-" She should have seen it coming, with the rage building up in his eyes as he reared back, but she couldn't dodge fast enough. His fist slammed into her cheek and Tasha went crashing into the ground. Everyone's attention suddenly turned to them and Newt let out a cry of shock.

"What the hell, man? You can't just go around punching people!" Frypan's disbelief was heard over Gally shoulder, but he ignored it. Minho was now actively holding Newt back, leaving Teresa and the Med-Jacks as the only ones left tending Thomas.

"I'm sick of your stupid remarks, Tasha." Gally yelled down at her as she coughed roughly, propping herself up onto her elbow, thumb brushing the dirt away from her nose. She winced as it made contact with her cheek. "I'm sick of you thinking that rules don't apply to you. Grow the hell up! You're a part of this community whether you like it or not." He snapped, before turning sharply to the others. "Put _him_ in the pit." He pointed to Thomas, eyes hard and cold.

"What?" Cried Minho, startled into letting Newt go. Newt ran to Tasha, checking her face carefully, wincing at the telltale marks of Gally's fist printed into her cheek. Tasha saw his reaction and smiled weakly at him, kissing his cheek. He gave her an unconvinced smile but helped prop her up further.

"If that guy goes nuts and starts attacking us, I don't want him near people." Gally seethed, towering over Minho who looked unhappy with the decision, but not about to argue. It made sense. "And put her in there too." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to Tasha, "she needs to be locked up," he paused, sneering at her, "like an _animal_." Tasha struggled to her feet behind him, leaning heavily on Newt. Newt's expression was sour and he avoided Gally's gaze, but Tasha held it defiantly.

"You're not… Our leader." She spat at Gally, pressing her fingers to her split lip. He turned, nostrils flaring like an angry bull's and Tasha barked out a laugh. Newt was torn between knowing that she had gotten herself into this, that it was just Tasha's nature, and wanting to kick Gally to the ground and make him apologise. His decision was made for him as Tasha, seeing the blood on the end on her fingers as she pulled them away, snarled at Gally, "You're some asshole who gets off on being controlling." It probably wasn't the best thing to say in hindsight, and Newt tried not to shrink away as Gally lunged forward, he _was_ second in command, he couldn't very well be afraid of one of the Keepers. Tasha could see Gally coming back for round two, but couldn't help her bitter laugh and going in for a final jab at Gally's already wounded ego. "Thomas is right-" There was the sound of fist hitting flesh, a loud cry from Newt, as he staggered back in surprise. She didn't manage to finish her sentence.


	22. Now or Then

"Wake up! Nik, wake up! Are you OK?" Quiet and persistent, Thomas's voice jolted Tasha from her uneasy sleep. She groaned to life, squinting in the sunlight filtering in through a thatched roof and fought to remember where she was, though it was a losing battle. All she wanted to do was go back to sleep, but with the sun now glinting in her eyes, it wouldn't be possible. She tried to move from her position, curled uncomfortably on the ground, but let out a loud, pained moan, her muscles aching in protest.

"I hurt," She mumbled, her voice rough with sleep, her vision unfocused, barely picking out the shapes of the others around her, hand barely covering her eyes to protect from the sun's rays. She licked her dry lips and grimacing as her tongue slid over broken skin, her eyes beginning to refocus, "everywhere." She concluded, squinting at her surroundings as they grew more familiar with each passing moment and the sinking feeling in her stomach became increasingly uncomfortable. She was currently crumpled on the floor of the wooden jail, with Teresa and Thomas beside her. The last thing she remembered was seeing Thomas fall, kissing Newt and, oh... - _Gally_.

"Gally had you thrown in here after Thomas and I." Teresa muttered softly, her eyes large and concerned as she looked over Tasha's crumpled form, Tasha's own gaze catching hers before her eyes slid out of focus once more. Tasha hummed sleepily, eyes fluttering closed, body weary and the burn of exhaustion running through her muscles, buzzing just beneath her skin.

Newt's voice reached her through her haze, and she cracked open her eyes once more, this time, more determined to stay conscious, "Gally's taken control." He huffed, his attention turning back to Thomas. Tasha was vaguely hurt, but his concerned gaze flicked to her and she saw the tense set of his shoulders and decided to let it go. There was bigger things to deal with. "He said we had a choice, either join him, or be banished at sundown with you."

"And the others agreed to that?" Thomas hissed, struggling to his feet, voicing the words that Tasha was too disconnected to articulate. His bitter tone brought Tasha back to reality and she focused her attention on the situation at hand.

"Gally has everyone convinced that you're the reason this has happened…" Teresa admitted, quietly, only just loud enough for everyone to hear. Tasha struggled, slowly and carefully, into a sitting position, propping herself against one of the walls, looking at the other five Gladers, trying to make sense of the conversation. Thomas sat on one of the little stone seats in the pit, frowning at Teresa's words.

"Well, he's been right so far." Thomas admitted, to which everyone froze, tension suddenly crackling through the air. Nothing was making sense to Tasha yet, everything still blurry around the edges, but she could feel everyone's unease and felt it mirrored subconsciously in herself.

"What are you talking about?" Minho hissed, frowning through the bars of the jail, crouch down beside Newt and Chuck.

"This place, it's not what we thought it was," Thomas was choosing his words very carefully, looking up and locking eyes with the Keeper of the Runners. "It's not a prison, it's a _test_. It all started when we were kids," Thomas squinted up at them and Tasha began to slide back into reality, beyond her pain, and actually listen to Thomas, her whole body going cold at his words, "they would give us these challenges; they were experimenting on us." Thomas seemed as if he couldn't believe it himself as he said it, the others all in various states of shock and confusion. "And then people started disappearing. Every month, one after the other, like clockwork." He finished.

"Sending them up into the Maze." Newt murmured, frowning, his gaze trained on Thomas's face, listening intently.

"Yeah, but not all of us." Thomas sighed, his voice part tired and part resigned. Mostly he sounded apologetic.

"What do you mean?" Newt's confusion was plain as day in his words and Thomas looked almost pained as his gaze drifted upwards to meet Newt's.

"Guys I'm one of them." Thomas admitted, disbelief filling his voice, Tasha didn't feel proud of the sense of ' _I knew it_ ' in her gut. "The people who put you here, I worked with them." He huffed, "I watched you guys for years, the entire time you've been here I… I was on the other side of it." His voice died in his throat as his gaze locked with Teresa's. "And so were you."

"What?" She didn't want to believe it, _couldn't_ believe it. It wasn't possible. Tasha closed her eyes, willing it all to be just a bad dream.

"Teresa, we did this to them." Thomas's sorrowful voice filled her ears and she knew it wasn't a bad dream. She opened her eyes again to gaze sadly at the two Greenies. It felt like she was intruding upon such an intimate moment.

"No." The tears began to fill Teresa's eyes and she shook her head, as if trying to physically expel the thought, "That can't be true." She muttered, her voice cracking as tears began to slide down her cheeks.

"It is, I saw it." Thomas told her, and Tasha's breath caught, her head spinning.

" _Tasha, Thomas you make sure I remember my name! My name is Tasha!"_ The memory blasted through her mind as tears filled her eyes. Her hand flew to her face as she sucked in a quiet gasp. She knew the boy from her memory, she was certain of it, but now she was sure; he was the one sitting before her right now.

"Why would they send us up if we were with them?" Teresa tried to reason, the conversation between her and Thomas taking the focus of the others, Tasha's own brief epiphany left unnoticed and she lowered her head to her hands, trying to take deep breaths and steady her racing heart.

"It doesn't matter." Thomas shook his head, his expression defeated.

"He's right." Newt's voice was clear, cutting through the intimate exchange between the two Greenies. "It doesn't matter," he shook his head, expression hardening, "any of it, because the people we were before the Maze, they don't even exist anymore." _Nik doesn't exist anymore_. "These creators took care of that." The intensity in his eyes burned through Thomas as their gazes locked, "What does matter is who we are now and what we do right now." Tasha lifted her head from her hands as Newt's hope seeped through the bars into the pit. "You went into the Maze and you found a way out."

"Yeah, but if I hadn't, Alby would still be alive." Thomas mused, to which Tasha gasped, her damp eyes growing wider with surprise. _Alby..._ she hadn't know that Alby was dead... _Everything was changing_.

"Maybe." Newt murmured, "But I know that if he were here, he would be telling you the exact same thing: _pick your ass up and finish what you started_." A bitter, not-smile overcame Newt's face, "Because if we do nothing, that means Alby died for nothing, and I can't have that." There was a moment of silence as Thomas considered the words, before nodding, resolutely, and Tasha had to push her grief aside. She could mourn Alby when they were safe.

"Ok…" He huffed out, before looking back up at the second-in-command - no, he was the leader now. "Ok, but we've gotta get through Gally first." There was something new in Thomas's voice, something like hope and determination that made Tasha ignore her own aching pain and help the others. The plan was simple enough, pretend to be: helpless, on Gally's side, or in Thomas and Tasha's case, _unconscious_ , and turn on their captors when they least expected it. Once the details had been hashed out amongst the six of them, the three not imprisoned were called away to prepare for the banishment.

"Nik, are you OK with-" Thomas turned to Tasha, who flinched, before crawling back to her side of the jail, trying to find a comfortable position in the dirt to get a nap in before the plan was set into motion.

"Stop calling me that." Tasha sniffled slightly, the stress finally taking a toll on her body.

Thomas looked taken aback and he fumbled for a moment with his words, before spluttering out his response. "Ah, Tasha, sorry." He had managed to catch his mistake and for a moment he wondered why he had called her anything else, apart from the fact that her name, or so he had thought for a split second, was Nik... He knew the reason, he wondered if she did too.

"My name isn't Nik." She told him, curtly, avoiding his gaze, her hands resting over her stomach as she tried to focus on a normal breathing pattern. Both Thomas and Teresa frowned at her.

"I know, I just-" He was cut short as Tasha, still with the faintest trail of tear tracks on her cheeks and eyes vaguely red-rimmed, said her next words as slowly and carefully as she possibly could.

"Thomas you make sure I remember my name. My name is Tasha." Thomas's eyes went wide and he started at Tasha, almost afraid as she met his gaze without flinching.

"You… remember?" He murmured, Tasha dropped her gaze again, her eyes closed and she hummed thoughtfully.

"Not really" She admitted, quietly. "I remember you. We were friends, or… something." The sigh she released was one that resonated in her bones, like the hum of a soul older than their years.

"No," he blurted and Tasha quirked an amused eyebrow, too tired to otherwise react, "I mean, yes, we were friends, just not good friends."

"I know." Tasha mused, smiling weakly. "Thanks. I like who I am." Her smile grew into a full grin, which Thomas returned, sitting beside Teresa who seemed as though she was unable to process everything happening at that moment. But it didn't matter. Thomas's voice was quiet and steady as Tasha drifted off to sleep once more.

"Sorry, Tasha, about everything."


	23. Glade or Maze

Sleep came easily to Tasha after her talk with Thomas, something which she was grateful for after her adrenaline filled night and stress inducing plans for their escape. She wasn't woken again until someone yanked her by her arms from the pit, and began dragging her across the Glade. It took her only a moment to realign her conscious thoughts and remember the plan, to remain quiet and limp, pretending she was still asleep as she heard Gally bark orders at those dragging her. She realised they had arrived at their destination when she heard a thud from somewhere close to her which she figured must have been Thomas, and was unceremoniously dropped to the ground herself. Her heartbeat sped up in anticipation, but she lay on the ground, unmoving, waiting.

"This is such a waste." Gally muttered from where he stood, somewhere behind her, closer to Thomas if her hearing was reliable. She felt her blood boiling at his words and it took all of her energy not to even flinch.

"Gally!" Winston's voice called out to the builder, making Tasha tense. She hoped no-one notice, but when no-one made a comment she figured that their attention had been elsewhere. "It doesn't feel right, man." Winston admitted and Tasha allowed herself a brief smirk.

"Yeah, what if Thomas is right?" Jeff asked, changing Tasha's smirk to a smile and she pressed her face closer to the dirt, her heart soaring. This must have been what Newt and Minho had been doing for the past few hours; planting the seeds of doubt in Gally's supporters.

"We are home. OK?" Gally told them, his voice steady. He believed this, wholeheartedly, and once more Tasha felt herself sympathising with him. Then, she remembered her split lip and bruised cheek and any friendly feelings she may have had towards him evaporated. "I don't want to cross any more names off that wall." He said, and Tasha squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think of all the people lost to the Maze - _or to themselves_.

"You really think banishing us is going to solve anything?" Teresa asked some feet away, fuelled by quiet determination.

"No." Gally admitted, to which Tasha froze. "But this isn't a banishing; this is an offering." Tasha almost squeaked involuntarily, fear flooding her veins. The plan was laid out, but this… this was something she hadn't anticipated, if any of them had anticipated. It wasn't, judging by Teresa's reaction.

"What?!" Teresa cried, "Wait, Gally!" Tasha could hear the scuffling of footsteps and the scrape of rope against wood. She couldn't hardly bear waiting but she had to, _had to_... even if one of the others was injured, there were others that could step in and she wouldn't have to break the illusion. It was just her nature, though, to help in the face of everything, and it was all she could do not to jump up then and there.

"Do you really think I'm going to let Thomas back into the Maze after what he's done?" Gally shouted angrily. "Look around you, look at our Glade," it was obvious at this point that he was addressing the other Gladers and even on the ground, Tasha could smell the smoke of burning buildings, "this is the only way. And when the Grievers get what they came here for, everything goes back to the way it was." Tasha was a live wire, electricity running beneath her skin and cracking at her fingertips. This wasn't how the Glade worked. Everything was changing and Gally couldn't adapt fast enough.

"Are you listening to this?" Teresa spat. Tasha almost laughed, she knew she had made a good friend in Teresa, "Why are you all just standing there? He's crazy!" She proclaimed, a surge of pride running through Tasha at her words.

"Could you shut up?" Gally huffed, and Tasha had to grit her teeth to keep quiet. She wasn't used to being this still in the face of confrontation, but she knew that Teresa had it covered, or... she hoped. Despite any of their disagreements, she admired Teresa's strength and drive.

"If you stay here, the Grievers are going to come back." She told the Gladers, "They're gonna come back and they're going to keep coming back until you're all _dead_." She was right, her words were harsh, bitter and full of venom, but they were still the truth.

"Shut up!" Roared Gally, "Tie them up!" He spat. Tasha guessed he was talking about herself and Thomas, but the feet by her head just shuffled nervously. She took silent pride in the fact that either she intimidated them or Gally wasn't as good of a leader as he thought. Either way she won. "Did you hear me? I said tie them up!" The person near her sprung into action lifting Tasha by her arms, until she was kneeling, which was the cue for Tasha and Thomas to spring into action. Tasha lunged forward, tearing herself from his grip by surprise, before spinning around so she was standing opposite him and kicking him in the face. She heard the crack of bone and watched him crumple onto the cold, hard dirt, before taking his sword from the sheath on his hip and standing by Thomas, who had escaped his captor's grip. Frypan had managed to free Teresa from where she had been tied to a pole, and the others were now forming a line, backing slowly towards the Maze. Tasha forced herself not to look at where her captor lay face down in the dirt, a pool of blood beginning to form around his face, presumably from his broken nose. _This wasn't her fault_ , she told herself, over and over again, _this was Gally's fault._

"You're full of surprises, aren't you?" Gally glowered at Thomas, who had his spear aimed directly at Builder, and Tasha's lip curled in contempt from where she stood between Thomas and Newt, though no-one paid her any attention.

"You don't have to come with us, but we are leaving." Thomas told Gally, defiance in his words. All Tasha could think in that moment was _Gally if you come with us I swear I will feed you to the Grievers first chance I get._ "Anyone else who wants to come, this is your last chance!" He called, addressing the group at large, thankfully ignoring Tasha's snarl in Gally's direction.

"Don't listen to him, he's just trying to scare you…" Gally growled, looking back at the others, who all had begun shuffling nervously where they stood, weapons in hand.

"No, I'm not trying to scare you, you're already scared." Thomas told them, simply, and he was right. "Alright, I'm scared." He admitted, "But I'd rather risk my life out there than spend the rest of it in here." He spat, his hands shaking as he held the wooden spear tightly. "We don't belong here." He muttered, "This place isn't out home. We were put here. We were _trapped_ here," he spluttered angrily, "At least out there we have a choice. We can make it out of here." His speech finished resolutely, determination in his voice. "I know that." Tasha could see some of the others switching side, their allegiances changing drip by drip. Winston was the first to join them, followed by Jeff and a few of the others. By the looks on their faces, Tasha knew they weren't sure what to believe, but they knew they _had_ to believe that Thomas was right, otherwise, they believed they would die. Tasha watched the boys, boys she had known for years now, friends leaving friends because of this Greenie. It was almost heartbreaking.

"Are you OK?" Newt whispered to her, his lips barely moving, startling Tasha as she watched the scene before them. Realising who it was, her gaze slid to him and she gave him and wry smile and a single nod.

In the end, there was only a handful of boys left, ones who still believed in Gally, who believed in the _Glade_. "Gally, it's over." Thomas murmured, "Just come with us." Tasha wanted to speak out against the idea, but she pressed her lips together and watched the ground, frowning.

"Good luck against the Grievers." Gally's voice was defeated. Tasha looked up, surprised, but she could see it in his face, he was broken. This was a man who knew he had lost the war. Her gut feeling was unease and she wasn't certain how to feel about that. Thomas huffed out a sigh, and the others began to turn and leave. Tasha was the last, analysing the remaining Gladers through her usual squinting glare. Gally's broken expression turned to anger as he saw her still standing there.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" He spat. Tasha clenched her jaw and her frown deepened, but she didn't move. "I'm not the worst thing out here, you know." He told her, and Tasha hummed thoughtfully, sucking in her bottom lip and running her tongue over the split skin there. It took her a moment more of his fuming rage for Tasha to return to her neutral mask and look him dead in the eye.

"I know." She said, simply, before she turned sharply on her heel, running from the Glade, just like she did her first day there She ran into the Maze and after the others.


	24. Entrance or Exit

Tailing the group as they headed further into the Maze, Tasha and Newt's every step was fuelled by adrenaline and anticipation though they still lagged behind with Newt limping as he always had. It was just second nature to Tasha now, whenever she and Newt were together she would adjust her speed to compensate for his limp. Minho ran just ahead of them, casting glances back at them to make sure they didn't fall too far behind. Of course, he knew Tasha wouldn't, but it was more of a habit than anything else and she appreciated it all the same.

"I'm sorry." Her quiet voice was unexpected, startling Newt from his thoughts halfway through their journey. It took him a moment, but he simply frowned in response. "About worrying you." She explained, her voice low and intimate, though her apology was met with a chuckle from Newt.

"I'm just glad you're OK." The smile on his face shrivelled and died, turning into another worried, rather sour expression as he looked at her out of the corner of his eye, "You are OK, aren't you?" He asked, concerned.

Tasha savoured her words before she spoke them, deliberating over what she chose to speak. Technically, _yes,_ she was fine. Busted lips and bruised cheeks were cosmetic wounds at best, and so she was OK. Emotionally, it was harder to define; she felt numb, now simply waiting for the inevitable shock and fear to crash down upon her, wave after debilitating wave. For now, though? For now she was fine… or so she told herself.

"Yeah, but I feel like hell." She admitted, quietly, looking at her feet as she ran. Newt took one of her fidgeting hands in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze..

"You sort of look it." He chuckled, quietly, light humour laced throughout his words and Tasha snorted out a laugh. She didn't look up, trusting Newt to follow the group as she tried to sort out her thoughts, examining her own black tank top. The night before had not done wonders for her clothing, leaving her covered in burns and rips, not too big, but enough to make her look scruffy. To be fair, all the Gladers were scruffy, it was just a part of their life… Which they were leaving behind.

"Is this the right thing?" She asked him, trepidatiously, her face falling. It took her a moment to reevaluate her statement before adding, quickly, "I know they wouldn't lie, but…"

"Tasha," The concerned murmur of Newt's voice cut her off and he swallowed hard before continuing, "you know if you don't believe them, you could have-" She knows it's killing him to say this, to give her the option of going back, of _running away_. She's run away from everything, it's all she knows, but now… now she's got Newt and she doesn't need to run.

"It doesn't matter whether or not I believe in them," she muttered, less bitter than her usual tone of voice, but the statement still gave Newt a heartbreakingly crestfallen expression, "but I believe in you." She breathed, smiling her genuine smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes and made her shine with happiness, the one she only used around him. Sweeping her into his arms there and then probably wouldn't be a good idea, but he wanted to. But they couldn't fall behind, and settled for grinning back, fingers laced with hers. "I love you." She told him.

"I love you too." He murmured back, knocking shoulders with her as they picked up their pace at Minho's amused yell.

"Hey, lovebirds, keep up!" He crowed, making Tasha laughed. She finally felt free and happy, her hand in Newt's, escaping the hell that she had been confined to for the past two years. The walls were flat and grey, taller than she had ever seen; they were still made of concrete and built like a fortress but Thomas had found the crack in the defense and it meant they were getting out. Pain, guilt almost seemed to wash through her at the knowledge that this would be the last time she would run through these corridors. She wasn't complaining, of course, for all the peace and solidarity the Maze offered, it was still the setting for some of the worst times of her life. In her mind, she could still see Newt's body, limp at the foot of one of the walls, ankle twisted at a painful angle, his breathing shallow.

"Keep up guys, we're almost there!" Thomas's shout snapped her back into reality, letting Tasha and Newt push forward as they headed through the well travelled flats of the Maze beyond the usual labyrinth, past the monstrous, iron Blades. A new opening loomed ahead, one Tasha had never seen before, and the group made their way towards it. As they approached, Thomas flattened himself against the wall, just before the corner, the others following suit behind him as they waited for his call. The Runner peered out, his panting breaths mirrored by all those around him, especially the non-Runners. There was a menacing groan and click of something that wasn't human humming above all the other sounds and Tasha's stomach dropped. She knew those sounds all too well.

"Is it a Griever?" Chuck asked Thomas, the fear in his eyes inspiring terror in even Tasha as he nodded at the youngest Glader.

"Yeah." He swallowed hard, the group forming a tight huddle around him.

"Here, take this Chuck," Everyone watched as Minho handed the curly-haired kid the cylinder that had been covered in Griever guts only a day previously, "stay behind us." He told him, seriously. Chuck took the object, not fully understanding it's significance, but understanding the gravity of his task if the shaking of his hands was anything to go by.

"It's OK." Teresa told him, both her and Thomas picking up on his panic as the other Greenie gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Just stick with me." She told him, her expression determined as she turned to face the Greenie.

"Once we're through, it'll activate, and the door will open." Thomas addressed the group, "We stay close, we stick together, we get through this, we get out _now_." There was a pause, the group not daring to breath as he looked around at them. "Or we die trying." His gaze locked with Tasha's and they nodded in mutual understanding. "Ready?" Thomas asked, planting the base of his spear firmly in the ground, dropping Tasha's gaze and staring down the rest of them. There was the metallic swish of a blade as both Tasha and Minho drew their swords, almost identical smiles of bloody appreciation painted on their features. "Alright," Thomas yelled, marvelling at them, before his grin grew wider, "Lets go!" He roared, charging down the corridor towards the Griever, followed by the rush of Gladers.

They managed to gain the attention of the Griever with their warcry, causing it to turned abruptly, it's claws snapping as it released it's metallic cry. Charged at them, running directly into their spears, allowing itself to be pushed aside, maneuvering itself behind their group. It's ploy doesn't work as well as it had hoped and the Gladers realign themselves within moments, spinning to face the monster, stabbing and hacking away at the Griever before them with spears and swords. Thomas landed a hit square in it's squishy excuse for a jaw and it lashed out, tail swiping through the air above them as they ducked and thankfully missing them, but it's determined to have it's revenge, snatching up one of the others, throwing him, screaming, off the side of the bridge. The shock hits them almost like a physical wound but they recover quickly, no time for mourning in battle. The monster plants one of it's feet directly in front of Teresa, who managed to dodge just in time, hacking away at the leg with her sword. It reacted like it had just been stung, flinging it's leg into the air - _and knocking the cylinder from Chuck's grip!_ He let out a cry of surprise and bolted after it, weaving through the fighting Gladers as it rolled closer and closer to the edge of the bridge. Teresa called out after him, but was blocked by others. Tasha was caught between helping Chuck and helping fight the Griever, but it appeared her decision was made for her as she lost sight of them as the remaining Gladers drove the Griever off of the side of the bridge. They pushed it back with all of their remaining force as it writhed and screamed in opposition. They watched as it lost it's grip and fell into the abyss below, as the Gladers let out an excited cheer. The joy, however, was short lived, as Teresa and Chuck ran back to rejoin the group, cylinder thankfully in hand, but tailed by two other Griever climbing the sides of the bridge. Tasha ran forward, joining Minho and Thomas to help stave off the Grievers as Teresa and Chuck ran straight through the group to the doors. The Gladers worked tirelessly to drive off the Grievers as a click and grinding thump radiated throughout the corridor; Tasha glanced over her shoulder quickly, seeing Teresa and Chuck running down a pathway that hadn't been there only moments before.

"Keep 'em back!" Minho shouted over the sounds of the struggles, lunging at the Grievers and slowly backing down the newly opened path.

"Stay together!" Newt yelled, his words overlapping with Minho's, his sword landing hit after hit into the slimy, oozing creatures. As the Gladers continued to back down the path, the Griever's assault became more aggressive and it was more often than not that Tasha was narrowly avoiding being stung or injured. As it was, she was littered with cuts and scrapes and bruises with no distinct memory if they were from this fight or the fight last night, all bruising her skin in different shades of blue and purple. It would be beautiful if it wasn't so painful.

The Grievers began to pick off the remaining Gladers, taking them off guard, snatching them up and throwing them back to the Maze. She could barely see or hear the other Gladers, her vision tinted red as she slashed away, the pitiful screams of the Grievers filling her ears. She heard somewhere in the back of her mind, or perhaps it was just dim to her oddly zen-like state of anger, Thomas and Minho arguing about the sequence of the Maze - _he must mean the sequence of the doors opening_ \- the voice in her head is mild where everything else is a blazing bonfire. That's when it happened, Newt's warning shout cut through her blind rage and she looked up, a Griever falling from the sky. It felt as if everything had begun to move in slow motion, she jumped out of the way in time for it to miss her, but it ended up pinning Minho, helpless, to the concrete. Snapping teeth kept at bay, Minho did what he could to fend the Griever off as he lay flat on his back. Tasha was frozen, unsure of what she do, but Jeff ran in, launching himself at the Griever and lodging his spear through it's head. Minho had used the Griever's confusion to his advantage, wiggling from it's grasp and stumbling away, however Jeff was not so fortunate and he remained stuck to the oozing skin of the Griever as it began to back away, like he was a fly trapped in the web of a spider. Jeff's agonising screams mixed with Winston's pained ones at seeing Jeff taken away and they were the only thing Tasha could hear as her body worked on autopilot. She was still in shock, pushing back the Grievers with Newt while Minho called out the sequence of numbers to Teresa. Jeff was her friend - she didn't have a lot of friends and losing one felt almost like losing a part of herself. She watched in mild fascination akin to horror as the doors began to slam closed in front of them, squishing the Grievers like bugs. The final creature lunged forward in a last-ditch effort to get to them, but before it could take a step closer to them, Thomas had lobbed his spear at it and lodged it in the Griever's face. The final stone door fell onto it with a loud bang, it's slimy, Griever fluids splashing out from beneath the door.

Everything is silent, the shock of survival almost tangible in the air around them. It's a coin flip between triumph or sorrow and nobody's quiet sure which they would pick at this moment. They stand as if in suspended animation, trying to make sense of everything, wondering what happens next, when a final door spins closed. There's a shout of surprise from the remaining Gladers and they're left in total, overwhelming darkness.


	25. Black or Blue

There's the slow creak of a door is accompanied by a thin strip of white light that illuminates the little stone room they found themselves in. In the darkness, Tasha's grip on Newt's hand is so tight she knows it will leave bruises, but that's OK, because he's gripping her just as tightly. There's a sort of uneasy comfort in that knowledge that they're all equally confused, dirty and tired, not a sound to be heard now but their panting for breathing, fear and uncertainty reflected in each pair of eyes. Teresa's the one who finally moves, pushing the door open and not flinching when it's accompanied by a loud groan of metal, not like the Grievers, thank goodness, it's too dull of a sound to be the Grievers. She looked back, hovering between stasis and action as if waiting for confirmation, before she stepped outside, followed by the remaining Gladers. A grey concrete tunnel is what greeted them as they emerged, lined with blue piping along the walls. Artificial lights flickered at the end of the hallway which made Tasha flinch, her mind alight with memories of nothing but water and screaming, but it's the mechanical snap of lights and row after row of lights, seemed to advance towards the, that snaps her out of her thoughts. The lights switch on, one after the other, until the gladers are bathed in the lifeless white glow. The lights seem to continue forever an age in both directions, one curving until the end is out of sight, the other stopping abruptly at the end of the tunnel that stretched before them.

None of them spoke, they simply watched, and then slowly began to walk. Heading down to the visible end was Thomas's suggestion, of course. It's a good suggestion, communicated with a mere wave of his hand, but they all followed suit and began heading down to the right, following the Greenie, all buzzing with fear and adrenaline. However, not even one hundred metres down the tunnel they all slow to a stop in front of a non-descript black door. It's shiny and intimidating, three slit-like windows hovering at eye level with a glowing exit sign above them. _Exit_ , that's what they needed.

"Seriously?" Frypan's the one to break the silence, with his trademark skepticism. Thomas edged towards the door, grasping the handle with almost painful delicacy, as if ready to attack whatever was on the other side of the door. It opened with a click and was wrenched open with a loud squeal, the scene before them a stark contrast to the one they had envisioned. An alarm wailed faintly and Tasha could feel herself tensing up, the only sign of movement being the solitary, orange, flashing light at the end of the short hallway, illuminating the still bodies scattered about on the ground. One light hung loosely from it's overhead fixture and man in a lab coat was slumped against the wall, the buzzing of the other light periodically illuminating not only him, but the glossy, red blood stain smeared down the wall behind him..

He was dead. Everyone here was dead.

There was nothing living apart from the Gladers, nothing but bodies; even the people behind glass screens, presumably half-way through an operation, were unmoving, their blue hospital gowns stained with blood. Tasha felt her heart rise into her throat and could feel the beginings of a panic attack thumping throughout her body, but she pushed it down. Her hand were still shaking as she held Newt's. Lying on the floor, another dead body reached out to them, as if looking for some help, but there was none to be found. They too were too late.

"What happened here?" One of the Gladers asked. Tasha daren't open her mouth for fear that she may just start crying, so she shook her head and pressed on. The doorframe at the end of the tunnel lead to a large, open room, illuminated by ominously sparking lights and a collection of blue screens and monitors, some still halfway active, showing scans and readouts while their operators lay dead on the floor. Tasha and Newt made their way over to a set of monitors displaying a brain readout with a live feed of the Glade above it. Tasha, in an attempt to distract herself from her horrible reality by squinting on the blood splattered screen before her and the name it displayed.

 _A11 : Nikola Tesla : The Fuse_

"They were watching us." Newt's voice is heavy with betrayal, as he gaze was fixed on the video of the Glade. She could barely hear him as her hand dropped from his grip, his hands balled into angry fists as hers hung limply by her sides. "All this time." He muttered, bitterly. Tasha's gaze was fixed on the vital signs of the person on the display, watching as every little movement she mades was reflected on the screen, her heart rate climbing and her breathing becoming more frantic. She knew what was happening, could feel the shaking in her hands and body, heart beating painfully against her ribs in her chest, her breathing coming in shorter and sharper until she felt like she couldn't breath at all, like she was being choked. _This wasn't_ right _. This isn't what's meant to happen! It's supposed to be good!_ Her hands came to clasp at her neck as she struggled for to even inhale -

"Hello." She spun around, startled into a gasp by a cool, female voice behind her. There was a woman on the largest screen in the centre of the room, white lab coat pristine in the recording as workers hurried about behind her. Tasha's breathing, while still short and sharp, had returned to her, as had the shaking of her hands and the tight, constricting pain of her chest. "My name is Doctor Ava Paige." The woman on the screen told them, as if it meant something. "I'm director of operations of _World Catastrophe: Killzone Department._ " She was so clean and clinical, like over half of the people in that video weren't dead bodies on the floor around them. A laugh, she wasn't sure if it was nervous or genuine, escaped Tasha's lips at the stark contrast but she quickly pressed her lips together "If you're watching this, it means you've successfully completed the Maze Trials." _Maze Trials_ , Tasha turned the phrase over in her mind and felt her anger grow with every passing moment. It means that all the death, all the suffering that the Gladers had endured in the past year, that was all a _game_ to these people. "I'm sorry I can't be there in person to congratulate you, but circumstances seem to have prevented it." The backdrop of her video had begun to grow busy, workers panicking as an alarm had begun to go off. "I'm sure by now you must all be very confused," she continued, completely ignoring the alarm, "angry _, frightened_ … I can only assure you, that everything that's happened to you, everything we've done to you; it was all done for a reason." Tasha felt like she might throw up, all the horrible things she'd seen and done in the Maze and in the Glade whipped through her mind, her thoughts lingered on a few select moments - the night she'd held the gun to her own head, the night she had waited by Newt's bed after he had jumped off of the walls.

"You won't remember, but the sun has scorched out world," a glowing bright image of a sun takes the woman's place on screen and Tasha almost doesn't recognise it; she hasn't seen the sun in so long… "Billions of lives lost to fire, famine; suffering on a global scale." Images of fire ruined cities, wreckages and starving children assault the eyes of the Gladers, who watch in mute horror, followed by pictures of corpses littering streets. "The fallout was unimaginable… what came after was worse. We called it ' _The Flare_ '," an image of what could only be a virus attacking a healthy cell was projected onto the screen, "a deadly virus that attacks the brain," videos of people scrapping at brains through open skulls is enough to make Tasha dry-retch, and she had to turn away, pressing her face into Newt's shoulder. "It is violent, unpredictable… incurable. Or so we thought. In time a new generation emerged that could survive the virus; suddenly, there was a reason to hope for a cure." There was a pause and Tasha turned, hoping that the disgusting images had stopped. The woman, Ava Paige, was addressing them once more, and Tasha couldn't help but be intrigued, a barrage of questions flooding her mind, though she kept her mouth closed. "But finding it would not be easy, the young would have to be tested, even sacrificed, inside harsh environments, where their brain activity could be studied; all in an effort to understand what makes them different… What makes _you_ different." Her gaze seemed to be staring into the very souls of the Gladers, but it was gone as soon as it had come. "You may not realise it, but you're very important. Unfortunately, your trials have only just begun." The background events had gone from busy to maniac and the sound of explosions was muffled by the glass behind her. "As you'll soon discover, not everyone agrees with our methods. Progress is slow, people are scared; it may be too late for us," she paused, "for me," she added, almost as an aside, "but not for you." The figures in the background were being gunned down by soldiers in all black, workers falling left and right, their deaths painting the story of how the Gladers had found them. "The outside world await, remember -" she pulled a gun from beneath her desk and held it to her head as a soldier in the background began shooting at the glass protecting her. It didn't shatter. Tasha knew what was coming. It was the same thing she had planned to over a year ago… Her heart was in her throat as her eyes stayed glued to the woman on screen. " _WCKD_ is good!" Ava Paige declared, before squeezing her eyes shut and pulling the trigger.


	26. In or Out

Staring wide-eyed at the screen, Tasha couldn't even make a single noise, her gaze fixed, unblinkingly on the now static-filled projection. Thomas was the first to spot the body slumped behind a desk in the corner, bathed in the same eerie blue light as the rest of them When Tasha caught sight of it, she felt her breath catch in her throat; it was Ava Paige. The other Gladers all crept closer, their faces all identical masks of shock and horror. The doors to their left opened with a loud hissing, like an airlock opening, leading to a darkened corridor lit by a few scattered lights The Gladers watched in fascination, as if willing something to happen.

"Is it over?" The nervousness in Chuck's voice was almost tangible as he turned slowly to face Thomas, uncertainty in his eyes.

"She said we were important." Newt murmured, quietly, "Well, what are we supposed to do now?" He fixed his gaze on Thomas, whose breathing was coming in shallow puffs, Newt's question hanging in the air around them.

"I don't know." Thomas managed, jolting towards the exits as if he hadn't gained full control of his limbs yet. "Let's get out of here." He breathed. The others followed, exhaustion weighing them all down as they headed to the door, before a loud, familiar shout made stopped them in their tracks.

"No!" The Gladers turned abruptly, Thomas pushing his way past Newt and Tasha to confront the intruder.

"Gally?" He asked, his voice incredulous. Tasha slipped through the crowd to join Teresa, the two girls standing either side of Thomas, a deep frown on Tasha's face as she surveyed the Builder before them. Thomas made a move to step closer, but Teresa held him back.

"Don't." She said, simply, her gaze unwavering from where it was fixed on Gally. "He's been stung." She elaborated, eyes gazing at the wound on his neck, which was clear as day. Tasha clenched her jaw, her own gaze drawn to the two objects in his hands – one was a Griever cylinder, shiny and chrome, the other was simply a gun, Tasha's gun, complete with swirling patterns carved into the hilt.

"We can't leave." Gally blurted out, his voice harsh as he shook his head, dropping the cylinder. It clattered to the ground and his grip on the gun tightened, making Tasha nervous, driving her to edge forward.

"We did; Gally we're out." Thomas's wary gaze was fixed on the gun too and he seemed as nervous as Tasha. "We're free." He added for good measure, hoping his words were getting through to the Builder.

"Free?" Gally seemed to be close to tears, barely hearing them over the voices in his head and his hands shook as he gestured to the doors. Tasha edged forward, placing herself between Newt and the gun, should Gally try anything. "You think we're free out there?" He shook his head, his voice thick with tears. "No. There's no escape from this place." Slow and deliberate, the hand in which he held the gun rose, and Tasha froze as she stared down it's barrel.

"Gally listen to me," Thomas muttered, his hands raised defensively. Tasha blinked hard, forcing her body to cooperated and stay where she was instead of running away, "you're not thinking straight… You're not." He paused, trying to reason with Gally when he couldn't even find the words. "We can help you!" He promised, pleading with the gun weilder. "Just put down the gun."

"I belong to the Maze." Gally said, his voice defeated, almost broken. Tasha knew what was happening, knew the feeling of being dead inside like she knew the back of her hand. She could spot it a mile off. She could spot it now. This wouldn't end well.

"Just put down the gun!" Thomas tried again, but it was futile, and she thinks that maybe Thomas knows that.

Gally shook his head as Thomas tried in vain. "We all do." Call it intuition, call it stupidity, all Tasha knew was that she had to get people behind her, and she did, shoving Teresa and Newt out of the way while someone else took care of Thomas.

Two loud gunshots rang through the air and it was almost as if it happened in slow motion, the bright flashes of light and the ringing in her ears was nothing compared to the shock. Minho's spear soared through the air, lodging itself in Gally's chest as Chuck pushed Thomas out of the way. The Builder gasped for air, wheezing like a fish out of water, with the spear lodged firmly in his chest. He collapsed amid broken glass, gasping out his dying breath as the light left his eyes.

Everything was oddly silent in the seconds that followed, apart from Tasha's pained gasp as a searing, burning pain spread quickly through her abdomen. She pressed her hands to it, stumbling backwards, pressing her lips together to keep from making a noise. Her hands shook as she took them away from her tank top to reveal slick, red blood coating her palm. Her clean hand she pressed to her mouth, partly from shock, partly to muffle her sob. The heat from her bullet wound spread from her stomach through to the rest of her body, at first a warm buzz but shifting quickly to a burning ache as blood began to dampen her tank top.

"Thomas…" It was Chuck's voice that caught everyone's attention, before the moment of stillness was broken and he collapsed on the ground before them. Tasha ground her teeth together to keep silent, one hand still firmly pressed to her wound as she moved to see what the fuss was. Chuck, sweet little Chuck, had a bullet wound in his chest. Thomas knelt beside the young boy, hands pressed to the wound, the word ' _shit_ ' toppling off his tongue over and over again. Tasha almost laughed, after so many years of the Gladers' curse words, actual swearing was funny, in a morbid way.

"Hey, look at me, look at me." He told Chuck, gaining a hold of himself as the kid struggled for breath, eyes already beginning to glaze over. The desperation in Thomas's voice grew with every passing moment as he tried in vain to stop the bleeding. "Please, look at me, Chuck, I need you to look at me, you'll be OK." He was on the brink of hysteria but Chuck grabbed his arm, firmly.

"Thomas…" His breathing was nothing more than wheezing gasps at this point, but despite his shaking hands he held a small wooden carving out to the Greenie, offering it.

"No, no Chuck," Thomas had begun to cry, Tasha could hear it in his voice, "you're going to give it to them yourself, remember? I told you that." He managed, refusing the offer, trying to spur the kid along, to give him hope where there surely was none. A kid like Chuck, it must have been a token for his parents, and now… now here he was, here they all were.

"Take it, Thomas." His voice barely a whisper, pressing the item into Thomas's hands, closing his fist around it, not letting Thomas let it go. "And thank you." Even with his shaky breathing, he kept repeating his thanks to Thomas, tears sparkling in his glazed over eyes. His chest's frantic up and down rhythm grew still and Thomas's eyes went wide. He began calling Chuck's name, his voice hoarse as he tried to wake him up, but it was futile… Chuck was dead.


	27. Life or Death

It all comes bubbling to the surface, the tension, the panic, the blind fear curled within each of them; it all spilled over the edge with Chuck's final breath. Silent tears track their way down Tasha's cheeks as she stands, one hand pressed to her belly and the other clasped tightly in Newt's. Regret crashed through her like an icy tidal wave and she can't help but cry, forehead pressed to his shoulder as sobs wrack her body. It hurts to move, hurts to breath, hurts to _think_ , but she's the first to turn and look when the doors behind them open with a groan, sunlight arcing across the space and gleaming off of the tear-wet cheeks of the Glader. She recognises the people in the black outfits almost immediately from the video they had watched, though Thomas's cries of agony are reverberating through her skull and she doesn't try to make sense of it all. Tall men with guns shout louder than Thomas cries but she still can't hear them, so they push and shove with force enough to leave bruises, she certain. They tear her from Newt's grasp while she's kicking and screaming and crying, so she screams _louder_ and doesn't think before bolting towards freedom, because that's who she is, that's what she does. She explodes through the doors and can barely register the scorch of the natural sunlight on her skin, but she falls to her knees, one hand still firmly pressed to her stomach, the other curled into the sand as she tries not to throw up. She is the first to fall into the helicopter they had waiting, having been manhandled in when she refused to get up, and so she crumpled against the furthermost door, knees tucked up to her chest and a fresh wave of tears falling from her eyes.

She feels Newt before she sees him, his arm pressed flush against hers as they sit in silence… there was nothing more to say. She still felt the terror and shock thrumming through her system, but the tears in her eyes were from the pain of her stomach, not that Newt needed to know the difference with her head on his shoulder. The helicopter whirrs to life with the deafening sound of it's blades slicing the sky. The men slammed the door shut, doing little to dampen the noise, but one removed his helmet; how he was grinning in such a time of despair, Tasha could barely fathom.

"You guys alright? You're safe now." He assured them. _Safe? Ha!_ The lurching movement of the helicopter only adding to the fiery nausea that consumed her, forcing her to squeeze her eyes close or else she thought she might throw up. Holding out this long had been an achievement in it's own right and Tasha wryly congratulated herself. Newt's arm wrapped around her, pulling her closer to him and letting him press a kiss into her hair, his own eyes red-rimmed. Neither of them make a comment. "Relax kid," the man's looking at Thomas the way everyone had begun to look at Thomas, hopefully, expectantly, "everything's going to change." Despite the man's enthusiasm, his words lacked the comfort he may have been trying to achieve, however there really were no comforting thoughts to be had, no Med-Jack hut to wake up to, none of the bad dreams to forget. Nothing left but this cruel reality and the inevitability of death.

Tasha wasn't afraid of dying.

"Newt." Not more than twenty minutes into their journey, the walls of the helicopter had stopped spinning in Tasha's vision and she murmured into Newt's ear, quickly drawing his attention. He raised his eyebrows at her, morbidly curious, "I'm going to miss it." She confined, quietly. Newt nodded sombrely, gaze sliding until his eyes fixed on some distant point past her head. She didn't mind though, pressing against her wound harder when she felt the warm, sticky blood beginning to spread from her stomach; she could feel it coating her hand and was glad for the dark clothing that had hidden it from even the most cursory assessments, as that was all they were now. "How do you feel?" She asked, her eyes remaining large and inquisitive despite his incredulous look. It took him a moment to respond, sniffling as he considered his words.

"Bloody awful." He sighed, voice part resignation part resentment at something - _W.C.K.D? Grievers? The Universe? Who was to say?_ Tasha barked out a bitter laugh, immediately regretting the decision with a suppressed wince as it aggravated her wound. "What about you?" He asked, his nudge bringing along with it a flare of pain. Her smile faded from forced to genuine and she kissed his cheek. The worst part about being shot, she considered, was most definitely the pain, everything else - the goodbyes, the regret, the death - was all easy in comparison. Despite herself, she knows that she doesn't regret any of her actions, she couldn't begin to regret them now. She had run all her life, she wouldn't run from this.

"I feel…" She hummed thoughtfully, smiling as she tried to block out her pain, "content." She admitted, and it was the truth. In spite of all opposing forces, she wasn't upset with the outcome. She wanted to be nowhere else but by Newt's side, and though at first he looked as if he didn't believe her, her peaceful smile and relaxed shoulders spoke more words than she ever would. Everything about her was wrapped in her physicality and there was something so raw about the way she communicated, it was one of the things he couldn't help but love about her.

"That's probably the first time you've said that and looked like you've meant it." He finally managed, no longer crying, but the evidence of his tears still shining on his face as he smiled softly at her.

"Yeah." She mused, moving as close as she dared. Seeing two of your friend die would break anyone and she couldn't blame him. It broke them all, three years ended in three seconds and they were all meant to be functioning normally. The world was cruel and bitter, but she could hardly focus on that when her eyelid began to droop with exhaustion and she slipped into unconsciousness.

 _A sky full of stars glittered peacefully above the Glade from where Tasha was stretched out beneath them, ankles were crossed and head resting on her arms as she lay, belly up in the grass. "Can't sleep?" She gave a start, sitting bolt upright and looking wildly around for the amused voice coming from the left. Upon seeing the blonde boy she visibly relaxed, but her smile was still wary as she shook her head. "I get it." He murmured, plopping down next to her, which she took as her cue to lie back down, fixing her gaze once more on the stars. "I mean, you've only been here, what, a week?" Tasha hummed in confirmation, to which Newt continued, "Never the less, you've done bloody well for yourself." Silence stretched between them as he waited for some sort of response from her, but she remained silent, the ghost of a smile still on her lips. "You don't say a lot."_

" _I don't_ talk _a lot." She corrected, quietly, vague annoyance conveyed clearly in her tone. Newt stretched out beside her, despite the frown on his face, and let his gaze roam about the stars._

" _Well, I suppose you're right." He was quiet for a moment, uncertain of how to proceed, faced with the silence that was so ingrained in Tasha's aura. He supposed that's why the others quickly grew tired of her, why they were so quick to dismiss her. "Hey, are you OK? You like it well enough?" He tried once more, but Tasha remained quiet, eyes still fixed on the stars. He was beginning to wonder that she hadn't heard him, but then she turned, agonisingly slowly, hair rustling the grass enough for him to turn to face her, and she caught his gaze, looking him straight in the eye._

" _People don't like me." She told him, bluntly. He opened his mouth to protest, however none sprung to his mind. She continued in spite of this, saving him from both embarrassment and offense, "It doesn't bother me, not like you would think. I know I'm too straight forward and I don't understand the value of tolerating those I don't particularly like." It's then when she looked uncomfortable, an emotion that looked odd and out of place on her face, almost as if it didn't belong. She always seemed so unflappable, even in the worst of situations, which often left the others wary of her. "You persist." She finally admitted, dropping his gaze. "I don't understand."_

 _Moments went by in which Newt tried desperately to decypher what she had said, and upon his realisation, a smirk lit up his face. "What?_ I _kept you up, love? Really -" She cut him off, her voice neutral, but rather strained._

" _No. I don't sleep well anyway; I was just…" She shifted where she lay, forcing herself to look up at the stars once more before swallowing hard and huffing, "dwelling." She concluded, her arms uncurling from behind her head to rest beside her._

" _Well, you're right about one thing." Newt's attention turned back to the stars after a few minutes of silence. Tasha frowned, her head tilting ever so slightly to look at him out of the corner of her eye as he lay beside her. "I do like you, Tash." She froze up, before smiling brightly, a sudden, unfamiliar warmth flooding through her, linked inextricably to_ belonging _. Newt captured her hand in his and they lay, hand in hand on the grass beneath the stars._

" _Good." Tasha mumbled, yawning, giving his hand an affectionate squeeze. "Because I like you too." The warmth of his touch spread throughout her, not like a vine, but a set of roots, curling through her whole being, from the tips of her toes to the point of her ears. Linked through hands and hearts, they knew they would never truly be separated._

Fog clouded Tasha's vision when she awoke… not true fog, but the fine line between fog and darkness that only she could see. Newt shaking her shoulders was what had awoken her, and she sat with his voice murmuring in her ear. "Tash, look at that." She could see him pointing, mesmerised by the beautiful lilac hues of the sunset mixing with the streaks of red and orange, but to her it was little more than an orange glow melting into shadows. She hummed quietly, happily. "Are you OK, Tash?" He asked, turning her to face him. Her vision grew darker with every passing minute and she was thankful that she could make out his features, cupping his cheek with her clean hand. The hand on her stomach remained in place more from habit than necessity; the pain had transformed into pure numbness and it was slowly pulling her under.

"I love you, Newt." She murmured, and he smiled at her, tiredly, weakly, but a smile none-the-less, that much she could tell. "Remember that." She whispered, her voice dying. With her final ounce of strength, she reached out with both hands, bloodied fingers sliding over his neck as she pulled him in to kiss him softly on the lips. It was sweet and chaste and Tasha smiled against him. Eyes closed she took a deep breath, feeling herself slipping under completely. Horror overcame Newt's face as Tasha's hand dropped away from his neck, still slick with blood and too weak to hold him close, the thick smell of iron pervading his senses. It wasn't difficult to find the bullet wound once he hand run his hands over her in panic, but it was too late and he shouted her name in vain, shaking her harshly. Her head lolled like a ragdoll. Lips numb, she barely managed to whisper her final words. Her whole body was numb and he listened, hanging on every words as if her life could be saved by that one action. It appeared that she had been right after all, her eerie mantra hiding some element of truth, _there is no way out_ , not for her anyways… She closed her eyes to the already dark world, pinpricks of light forming behind closed eyelids. It was simple, of course it was, it's who she was. Tasha wasn't one for complex, rambling monologues, and Newt loved that about her. He just wished that for once she wouldn't stop talking… Five words. Five words and she was gone.

" _I love you so much_."


End file.
